


The Princess and the Knight

by nerdypipsqueak



Series: The Princess and the Knight [1]
Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Early music, Families of Choice, Kidnapping, Lawrence being a fashion queen, Light Bondage, M/M, Majid being fabulous, Oxford, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Sex, Unsupportive family, homophobic attitudes, nerdyness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak
Summary: The modern day AU in which Lawrence is an archeologist, Ali is his bodyguard and Auda is an annoying, fedora-wearing Indiana Jones wannabe (as mentioned by me on Tumblr)





	1. Chapter 1

Ali ibn El Kharish is not a happy man. He should be, the fighting is finally over, but how can one be happy with all the horrors the War has left behind: the misplaced persons, the wounded, the destruction. Not to mention the big bosses, all high and mighty in their youtube rants and twitter posts, now reduced to a life on the run, hiding in the desert and mountains. According to the intel they've scattered, believing they have better chances of survival separately.  
Ali is not happy. He wants desperately to go undercover, go off after one of the big guys, maybe even all of them. But no, he's been put on babysitting duty, forced to nanny some British cunt, who's coming to deal with the numerous historic artifacts that have started resurfacing after disappearing during the War. Instead of resting up and possibly preparing for a new mission Ali's had to drive all the way down to Aqaba (because apparently the blasted Englishman couldn't get a ticket to Amman), book himself into a hotel for the night and get up at the crack of dawn to be at the airport on time. At least the plane is not late, or so the screen says. So Ali waits, unhappy but patient, holding a stupid piece of paper with the words "Doctor Lawrence" printed on it. Lawrence, an old folks name, Ali thinks to himself, it practically stinks of moth balls and cabbage. He scans the tide of people flowing past him, tourists, businessmen and women in well-tailored suits, locals returning home from abroad, an American family, dressed in matching t-shirts. He smirks at their backs, the eldest American child, a teenage girl, catches his gaze and rolls her eyes, gesturing at the ridiculous t-shirts. He smiles sympathetically, she winks at him, then jogs away, disappearing into the crowd. Ali chuckles to himself and returns to watching the arrivals gate. How long can it take for one man to collect his luggage and pass through border control?!   
The gate slides open and another tide of people flows out. A few women in headscarves, more businessmen, more tourists. An elderly man in a tweed suit and glasses. Ali looks at him hopefully but the man glances at the piece of paper, shakes his head and walks away.  
Frustrated, Ali begs the earth to open up and swallow him, put him out of his misery. But the earth is not in a particularly giving mood today and ignores his plea. However, the gate opens a third time. This time only one person passes through it. A man, young, slender, roughly as tall as Ali. There is nothing "old folks" about this man. He is wearing skinny black trousers, a crisp white shirt, a black jacket and doc martens boots. Poor choice of clothes for the local climate, Ali thinks.   
The man is carrying a brown leather bag on a long strap and a four-wheel suitcase. His head is pressed to his shoulder at an awkward angle and Ali realizes that he's using that shoulder to hold a phone.  
"Yes, I'm in Aqaba now. Right now, I've only just passed through border control." The man says into the phone in English. His accent sounds quite posh. "Mother, you do realize that _you_ are ringing _me_ on my _mobile_ while I am _abroad_. Your phone bill will be massive... I'm serious, Mother, I'm not using this as an excuse not to talk to you... No, I'm genuinely concerned about your phone bill."  
Ali snorts a laugh. The Englishman suddenly looks at him, quickly scans the paper in his hand and then waves cheerfully.   
"Why, Mother?! Because I am your son, believe it or not and I worry. I've got to go now. My ride is here." The man hangs up, pockets his phone, quickly runs a hand through his hair and jogs over to Ali.  
"I presume you are Mr Ibn El Kharish?" He asks in fluent, if heavily accented, Arabic. "I was told you would be waiting for me."  
"Colonel Ibn El Kharish" Ali corrects him. "Ali ibn El Kharish."  
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm doctor Lawrence. Thomas Edward Lawrence."  
"Come on then, princess, I ain't got all day, you know." Ali turns on his heel and heads for the exit. "We've got a long drive to Amman."  
Within 5 minutes of them pulling out of the carpark Lawrence falls asleep. Ali is grateful for that, he doesn't have to bother with small talk. Instead he can focus on the road. He does steal a few glances at the sleeping man out of curiosity, no harm in that. Lawrence is not bad-looking, quite the contrary, for a paperpusher he is very good-looking. His skin is nice, smooth, clean-shaven and healthy, obviously looked after. Not perfect though, there are thin lines developing around his mouth and the corners of his eyes, lines that come from frequent smiling. His hair is nice too, a lovely golden shade of blonde.  
Suddenly Lawrence's phone rings and he sits bolt upright, momentarily confused. Then he twists in his seat, fishes his phone out of the back pocket of his trousers and answers it. "Yes, Mother? Still in Aqaba... Actually no, sorry, I'm... somewhere between Aqaba and Amman. I'm fine, I was sleeping, that's it... Phone bill, Mother... Oh for the love of God... Please stop shouting at me, I'm a grown-arse man... I know... Oh God... Vyvyan? He knows I'm in Jordan. Look, the books I borrowed from him are on my desk. Just give them to him when he comes again... How do I know that he will? Trust me, Mother. Ok, I've got to go, I'm serious, these phone calls are going to bankrupt you."  
"Your mum sounds like a right pain" Ali laughs.  
"That she is" Lawrence mutters pocketing his phone.  
"Who's the Vyvyan guy? Boyfriend?"  
"Ex-boyfriend."  
"Aww."  
"Don't aww me, Colonel. Do you have any idea what it's like when all they want is to get inside your pants while the only thing you want is a cuddle?!"  
"I understand. You decided to put as much distance as possible between you and him. But Jordan? Doctor Lawrence, that's awfully far from home, you know."  
"I want to help." Lawrence says simply.  
"You want to be a white saviour, you mean. You want to show us, barbaric Arabs, how things are done. You want to _deliver_ us."  
"You are being unfair, Colonel. Your government invited me."  
"Doesn't mean I have to agree with that."  
"True."  
"You are much nicer when you're asleep."  
"You could at least try to be civil if we are to cooperate."  
"Speaking of cooperation, princess, now that you're awake let's lay down some rules."  
"I'm all ears." Lawrence shifts and crosses his legs on his seat.  
"First of all, I can live with you putting your feet on the seat but put them on the dashboard and I will break your face."  
"Lovely."  
"Second, my job is to assist and protect. Assist means I can help you lift or carry something, I can hold a door for you if your hands are full but I will not do your coffee runs. You can get your own damned coffee."  
"Fair enough."  
"Protect means that if I say hide you hide, if I say run you run, if I tell you to be quiet you shut your big mouth and don't make a sound. You do not question my judgement. Is that clear?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Good. Now, practicalities..."  
"The ministry of culture is paying my expenses, both personal and professional." Lawrence interrupts him. "They've already covered my travel costs and accommodation."  
"About that" Ali sighs deeply. "Accommodation. There's been some... pressure... from the Royal Family, specifically Crown Prince Feisal."  
"Oh?"  
"According to Crown Prince Feisal there is no hotel in Amman good or safe enough to house you. He's quite paranoid about suicide bombers, you see."  
"So where am I to stay?"  
Ali sighs again "At my place."  
Lawrence throws his head back and laughs loudly, girlishly for a good minute. Suddenly his face falls. "Are you serious?"  
"Unfortunately yes. Crown Prince Feisal was very insistent."  
Lawrence pulls out his phone and dials a number. "Salaam, this is doctor Lawrence. I'd like to speak to Prince Feisal... How did I get this number? His highness gave it to me. Now can I please speak to him? Thank you."  
Ali gives Lawrence a surprised look. The man just raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Then his face lights up in a bright smile. "Your highness... yes, yes, I am fine. I've arrived safely... Yes, Colonel Ibn El Kharish picked me up at the airport, we're driving to Amman now... No... No, everything is fine, it's just the accommodation situation I'm ringing about... Really, I would hate to impose on the good Colonel... I will be fine in a hotel... I'm being absolutely honest, your highness... I... Alright, if you insist... I guess so. It will be my pleasure... Good day to you too."  
He puts the phone away and crosses his arms on his chest, a strange look of silent anger on his face. The air around him seems to vibrate with emotion.  
"You vex me, princess" Ali says just to kill the heavy silence "I don't like being vexed. How do you have Prince Feisal's phone number?"  
"He came to my lecture on crusader castles, we had a bit of a chat, I was looking for a new project, he had some suggestions and then he just gave me his number. In case of any trouble, he said."  
"Fuck me. I've served with the man, he calls me his friend and I don't get to have his phone number. You show up, give a speech about castles and boom! You just get his number.  
"You served with Prince Feisal? In the army?" Lawrence looks impressed. Ali nods and allows himself a smug grin.  
They don't talk much more. The Englishman sleeps. He's a very silent sleeper, he doesn't snore or talk or even mumble. Ali steals a few glances then chastises himself for that, focuses on the road, drives like he's driving into battle. He doesn't want to think about the months that he's going to spend sharing his flat with this insufferable, annoying, over-confident, arrogant, attractive man. He doesn't want to think about seeing that man's toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, about their clothes mixing in the same washing machine, about meals that inevitably will be shared. He doesn't want to admire the golden hair, the long neck, now exposed as Lawrence tilts his head to the side, to rest against the window. Ali likes necks, slender ones that smell of aftershave or perfume. He likes to kiss, bite necks, mark them up a little. He likes to bury his face in that spot where neck and collarbone connect. He likes it when men bury their faces in that spot on his body. Collarbones are nice too, the visible ones, the way they flutter beneath skin...  
Ali likes wrists as well. Slim, bony ones. He likes to tease his tongue across that place where the wrist attaches to the heel of the palm. Sometimes fingers find their way into his mouth and he enjoys that too.  
The car feels awfully hot all of a sudden. Ali turns up the air conditioning. Lawrence stirs, pulls his jacket tighter around himself. His neck is absolutely delectable. _Stop it_ , Ali tells himself, _he's not some twink out of grindr, he's your job, your responsibility for the next 6 months at least. He's out of bounds. And anyway he's an annoying prat._


	2. Chapter 2

The first week is difficult. Lawrence doesn't use the shower, he has baths. Long baths. He stays up late and sleeps in. He talks on his phone, extremely long conversations with his mother and some guy called Arnie. He makes himself cups of tea, forgets about them and then Ali has to round up all those cups, full of cold, cloudy liquid. Lawrence's presence is expansive. His shoes have taken over the hallway, his clothes dominate the washing machine. He buys books and piles them on the coffee table, next to the ones he's brought with him. Out of curiosity Ali examines the pile and is astonished by the vast range of topics: history, politics, art, war, religion, poetry, a few very specialist books about archeology. Impressive. All of a sudden the Englishman seems less infuriating.  
By the end of the week they have found a rhythm, a routine, an agreement on who gets to use the bathoom first and whose turn it is to control the remote. It feels odd. Ali has never shared his flat with anyone before, he's never been in a relationship significant enough to suggest moving in together. Yet here he is, living with a complete stranger, sharing pots, plates and household appliances. It does feel odd but it's not bad, it's just different. One thing though still infuriates Ali.   
The v-necks.  
T-shirts. Black. White. Loads of them. Every single one with a v-neck.  
Every single day Ali gets an eyeful of Lawrence's slender neck, the top of his hairless chest, hs collarbones, fluttering just beneath the surface of his skin, beautiful and tempting. It's not just the collarbones. It's the narrow hips, the legs that seem to go on forever. It's the long fingers, the graceful wrists.   
Every single day Ali tells himself that he shouldn't want this man, not like that. But he does and it's difficult so he turns to his usual coping strategies. Pull-ups. Sit-ups. Push-ups. Planks. This works only for a short while. The next logical thing to do would be to seek relief elsewhere but Ali doesn't even consider that possibility seriously. He's sick of partying, sick of clubs, the empty-headed men who go there and the one-night stands. The third logical thing to do would be to avoid Lawrence. That he can't do. Lawrence is his job. He can't just go out and leave him. He has orders after all - assist and protect - so he does just that and to his own surprise the "baby-sitting" gradually becomes less bothering.   
The project finally begins. Now their days are spent in a military base just outside Amman, in a warehouse full of priceless artifacts: statues of all sizes, carvings on huge slabs of stone, weaponry, jewellery, coins, pottery. Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Mesopotamian. Lawrence supervises a team of archeologists and art historians charged with the daunting task of assessing damage, cataloguing and determining the origins of those artifacts. There is also a team of IT professionals who monitor the online market for signs of missing antiquities.   
Every morning Ali drives them to the warehouse via Starbucks. They spend most of the day in the warehouse. Lawrence works very hard, putting his entire being into the task at hand, ignoring his own hunger and fatigue but making sure the rest of the team are fed, watered and well rested. So Ali takes it upon himself to remind Lawrence to eat and sleep, sometimes even physically dragging him away from his desk. It's exasperating.  
One particularly hot day Auda Abu Tayi shows up.   
Ali has mixed feelings about Auda. The man does a lot of semi-legal or downright illegal business involving antiquities and art. He is extremely annoying, especially since he discovered Indiana Jones and decided that if a fedora is good enough for Harrison Ford then it's good enough for him. But on the other hand Auda has never turned away anyone who has asked him for help, be it friends, family or complete strangers. He is a river to those around him and just for the sake of that Ali is willing to turn a blind eye on the man's less legal activities.  
"Look what the cat brought in" Ali greets him at the entrance to the base. "What can the Jordanian Army do for you today?"  
"Well, if it isn't Ali Ibn El Kharish. The man they call Colonel" Auda does a mock salute and tips his silly brown fedora. "How's your dad? Still a thief?"  
"My dad retired from the tax office 5 years ago as you know. What is it you want?"  
"I've got something for the English guy." Auda points to the back of his pickup truck. Ali notices a load of large crates.  
"What are those?" he asks.  
"Found them out in the desert." Auda tells him. "I opened one of them. It was full of coins. Old ones with Roman emperors on them."  
"And you bring them here out of the goodness of your heart?!"  
"I'm not a total bastard, you know."  
Ali wants to argue on that but Lawrence shows up and immediately monopolizes Auda's attention. The older man helps him onto the back of the pickup, opens a crate to demonstrate the contents, casually touching Lawrence's shoulder or back as they discuss the possibility of payment. The touching strangely annoys Ali. He wants to rip Auda's arms off and ram them down the man's throat.   
At long last an agreement is reached. Auda ceases to touch Lawrence and goes about bossing the soldiers who have come to help unload the truck. Ali joins in, carrying crate after crate into the base, loading them onto one of the small vans used to ferry people and objects around the complex. Anything to make Auda go away.  
"Oh my God!"   
The sudden cry almost makes him drop a particularly heavy box he's been pushing onto the back of the van. He abandons the box and runs back to where Auda's truck is parked. Lawrence is kneeling in the sand next to an open crate, a look of utter horror on his face.  
"What is it?" Ali crouches beside him.  
"Look." Lawrence reaches into the crate with trembling hands. One by one, he pulls out pieces of stone and begins arranging them on the ground.  
"What is it?" Ali repeats.  
"The bowman. The charioteer. The chariot and horse. And here lies the enemy, conquered, trampled by the horse." Lawrence's long fingers point to the pieces of a shattered picture. "I dug this relief out myself. It comes from Carchemish in Syria."  
"Where the Egyptian army was defeated by Nebuchadnezzar II."  
"Exactly. This is a Hittite relief, it used to be part of a palace. I dug it out with my own two hands. These..." Lawrence tries to stifle a sob but fails miserably. Tears roll down his face and Ali can almost feel his heart breaking. "These... This was done with a sledgehammer. Someone took a sledgehammer to this priceless work of art and just... Just smashed it, Ali, like it's worthless, like it means nothing."  
"I'm so sorry, princess." Ali wants to touch Lawrence, to comfort him but doesn't get a chance. The Englishman rises to his feet and grabs a shocked Auda by the shirt.  
"Did you do this?!" He screams. "Did you fucking do this?! Did you know about it?!"  
"Are you insane?!" Auda screams back. "I'm a pro! I would never do such a thing!"  
Ali watches them as they stare one another down. He's never heard Lawrence raise his voice before, let alone swear. Rage adds a deadly edge to all that golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty.  
"Oi!" Ali straightens up. "Auda, don't leave town. You're going to have to give a statement. You, princess, come here."  
Firmly, he pulls Lawrence into his arms, rubbing his back soothingly, and lets him cry. Some of the soldiers give them awkward looks but Ali doesn't care. His heart aches for Lawrence and all he wants is to make him feel better.   
"You've had a long day." Ali murmures into Lawrence's hair. "Let me take you home. Let me look after you. You've got a good team here, they can handle a day on their own."  
Lawrence looks up at him, surprised, eyes wet and puffy. He doesn't protest though, just lets Ali propel him back into the base and to the car. He even dozes off for a few minutes during the drive home.  
After they get home Lawrence picks a CD from Ali's vast collection of medieval, renaissance and baroque music, then curls up on the sofa, phone in hand.  
"You do have a rather unusual taste in music." He says as Bach's Kunst der Fuge starts playing.  
"My dad taught me all about music." Ali sits on the floor in front of the sofa. "He studied it for a while after he got his accounting degree. That's how he met my mum."  
"Aww." Lawrence smiles weakly.  
"You should get out more. You need to relax." Ali tries to swat him on the knee but the swat turns into a pat.  
"Should I now?"  
"Yes. Tomorrow's Saturday, right?"  
"Yes."  
"Would you like to hang out with me and my friends?"  
Lawrence looks surprised. Finally he nods. "Yes. Sure. Why not?"  
"Good. Now rest."  
"I'll try."


	3. Chapter 3

They both sleep in that Saturday. Then Lawrence takes ages to get ready. But when he finally emerges from the bathroom Ali's heart stops. The Englishman is wearing a black shirt, the two topmost buttons undone to create a v-neck, and very tight black trousers. The shirt is not tucked in, the sleeves are rolled up all the way to his elbows. Oh God, he is wearing eyeliner! It makes his sea-blue eyes look unbelievably deep and large.  
"Is this too much?" Lawrence asks, knocking Ali out of his open-mouthed stupor.  
"No, you look... Perfect."  
"Aww, thank you."  
"I actually feel underdressed now" Ali says. His plain white shirt and jeans can hardly compete with Lawrence's outfit.  
"Don't be ridiculous, you look absolutely brilliant."  
"Shut up, princess" Ali lightly punches him on the shoulder. "We should go, we're already late."

They don't take the car, it's only a 10 minute walk from Ali's flat to Majid's house. Majid is Ali's oldest friend. They've known each other since they were children, playing pirates, starting their first gang, a ragtag group of boys who have stuck together through thick and thin and still meet regularly to chat and play video games. Ali attends those meetings religiously.  
Now, as he presses the buzzer, he wonders if bringing Lawrence to this gathering is a good idea. But it's too late to turn back now, the door is open, Majid standing in it, arms open, a huge grin on his face.  
"Ali!" Majid gives him a crushing hug "Long time no see, dude! Oh, who have we here?" His attention rapidly switches to Lawrence, who smiles shyly.  
"This is..." Ali starts but Majid puts a hand over his mouth effectively stopping him mid-sentence.  
"Shush-shush. I'm sure he knows how to talk."  
Lawrence, visibly embarrassed, introduces himself and patiently endures Majid's double-cheek-kiss greeting. He then allows the man to put an arm around him, lead him into the house and introduce him to the rest of the gang.  
They're missing a few members, Ali notices. Nasir's on a business trip in Canada, Zaal is doing a 12 hour shift in the hospital's intensive care unit. Omar's on holiday with his family. That leaves Sharraf, his twin brother Shakir, Gasim, Hussein and, of course, Daud and Farraj. The pair are younger than the rest of the gang and definitely the most annoying, even more so than Majid himself. Daud, ridiculously over the top as usual, is wearing a red flower crown on his thick dark curls. His eyes are roving all over Lawrence in a way that infuriates Ali so much he is actually surprised by the intensity of the feeling. He sets himself to work, setting up the Playstation, plugs and cables and controls, keeping him focused, stopping him from acting on any foolish impulse. Behind his back Daud challenges Lawrence to a game of Assassin's Creed and Lawrence accepts. Ali says nothing to that, just finishes the set up and heads for the kitchen, where Majid is fixing drinks.  
"That English guy is adorable." Majid smiles at him. "His eyeliner game is on point."  
"He's my job." Ali says dryly. "The prince got my bosses to make me his bodyguard."  
"Sounds like fun. You get to be the knight in shining armour."  
"Shut up. It's not fun. Do you have any idea how infuriating he is!?"  
"Nobody's perfect."  
"Easy for you to say. You don't live with him."  
"You.. what?!" Majid snorts very loudly.  
"Prince's orders." Ali groans.   
"Is it really that bad?"  
"His stuff is everywhere. I mean everywhere. He spends more time in the bathroom than you do and that's saying something. He doesn't clean. And the clothes he wears..."  
"What about them? He looks pretty cool in my opinion."  
Ali groans again, embarrassed, and gestures towards his neck, hand drawing circles in front of it. Majid opens his mouth, then shuts it and nods, understanding. "You find him distracting."  
"You know me."  
"I like to think I do after all these years."  
Somewhere behind Ali's back Lawrence lets out a really loud, triumphant "ha".  
"I think he's kicking Daud's arse." Majid begins pouring out shots of vodka.  
"Good for him. Can I have my grapefruit juice please?"  
"Would you like a shot with that? Oh, I forgot, you're _working_ , can't have you drinking on the job."  
"One of these days you are going to push me too far and I will end up rearranging your face for you."   
Majid just laughs. He knows Ali doesn't mean it. They've always been like this, firing insults and threats at one another. A stranger might take them for enemies but the truth is Ali and Majid have been through thick and thin, war, peace, growing up, coming out, stepping into adulthood. First jobs, first apartments, first kisses, first breakups. As close as brothers, they know each other's secrets, the embarrassing ones and those they don't want to admit are true.  
"Are you in love?" Majid asks suddenly, placing a tall glass in front of Ali.  
"What?!"  
"You called him infuriating. You only ever call somebody that when you're in love with them."  
And that is one of those truths Ali doesn't want to admit about himself. He doesn't want to admit that it's more than physical attraction, that he doesn't really mind Lawrence's atrocious habits, that he would gladly spend the rest of his life rounding up abandoned teacups if it made the Englishman happy.  
"Auda Abu Tayi showed up at base yesterday." Ali says, desperate to change the subject.  
"What did he want?" Majid leans against the kitchen counter as if he's the barman in some stupid cop movie, listening to the main character's angst.  
"To talk to him." Ali points behind his back, to where the others are sitting, focused on the game. "He found some abandoned crates in the desert and brought them over for him to evaluate."  
"So what was in the crates?"  
"In the ones I saw opened? Some ancient coins and a few works of art. And..."  
"And?" Majid prompts him.  
"There was a massive slab of rock with a battle scene carved into it. Someone had smashed it with a sledgehammer. Lawrence fucking cried when he saw it."  
"He cried?! Like with tears and everything?"  
"Yes! He got really upset. He told me he was the one who discovered it."  
"And he cried over it?"  
"Yes!"  
"He cares." Majid says simply. "Let me look him up."  
"Don't google him." Ali protests weakly. "I don't want to know."  
But Majid isn't listening, rapidly scrolling through something on his phone, a gleeful smile on his face. "Dude, I just found his Instagram!"  
Ali pulls his phone out so quickly his grip falters and he almost drops it, much to his friend's amusement. He opens Instagram, ignores the notifications he hasn't checked for months, types Lawrence's name into the search engine.  
"Lawrence Arabiae?" He snorts when he finds the right account. "Seriously?"  
It's mostly pictures of ancient artefacts, castles in Europe, some photos of various events, mostly protests and fundraisers for refugees. There's a lot of pictures of digs - Egypt, Jordan, the older ones are from Syria and Iraq. In between that there's typical Instagram stuff - food, books, a few selfies. The selfies aren't bad, there's no duckfaces, no #Iwokeuplikethis nonsense, but they aren't special either. Just pictures of a grinning face against various backgrounds. Nothing interesting.  
Except for one.  
It catches Ali's attention immediately. Lawrence, leaning against a stone wall (the tag on the photo says Qasr Al-Azraq), dressed in a white thawb, a thick frame of kohl around his eyes, smiling softly, intimately.   
"Just look at him." Majid nudges Ali's hand with his own phone, that very picture shining on the screen.  
"Ali!" Lawrence calls out suddenly, startling him. "We're going out for a smoke!"  
Ali has to be quick. He can't afford to lose sight of Lawrence. Not just because it's his job to protect him but because it's suddenly hit him that Lawrence is probably the loveliest creature in the world and if something was to happen to him...  
By the time he's reached the backyard lighters have been passed around, cigarettes have been ignited and Lawrence, now wearing Daud's silly flower crown, is talking to Gasim.  
Ali doesn't like Gasim, never has, probably never will. He doesn't fit in with the rest of the gang but he's part of it because his mum used to be friends with Majid's mum and they thought it would be so _cute_ if their little boys were friends too. Everyone in the gang have made a name for themselves, Ali in the army, Zaal in the operating theatre, Omar as a journalist. But Gasim... He stands out. He's constantly in trouble, if it's not money problems it's the police and if it's not the police it's drugs.  
Ali rolls his eyes. Gasim's offered Lawrence a spliff three times now and every single time Lawrence has refused. "Really, I shouldn't. I work for the government, you know."  
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy. Loosen up, live a little." Gasim tries cajoling him. Ali is not surprised. The man might just as well have "idiot" tattooed on his forehead.   
"I don't do drugs." There is a stern hint in Lawrence's voice now. "I like to be in control of my faculties."  
"La-dee-dah. You'll be begging for one of my special little ciggies in no time, pretty boy."  
"Fuck off, Gasim" Ali steps in. "He said no three times. I don't think he's going to change his mind."  
"You really need to get those sticks out of your arses, both of you." Gasim mutters sulkily and slouches back indoors. Lawrence lets out a tiny sigh of relief.  
"Charming company. A true pillar of society, that one." His voice is dripping with poisonous sarcasm.   
"Never liked him." Shakir says, stamping out his cigarette butt. "And his stuff is low quality. Tainted, you know."  
"How he's still alive is a mystery." Ali interjects. "That's a really cute flower crown, princess."  
"Aw, do you like it? I won it from Daud here." Lawrence smiles proudly. He blushes too, just a little bit, his eyes fixed on Ali. Then he drops his gaze, cocking his head slightly.  
"Actually, I do like it, princess."  
Lawrence looks up, blushes even more, lifts his hand to rub the side of his neck. Ali can't help but follow the movement, the long elegant fingers sliding up and down that lovely pale skin. God, how he wishes it were his own hand stroking Lawrence's neck. He wants to sink his teeth into that neck, pin down those graceful wrists and...  
"Still with us, Ali?" Lawrence's voice is uncharacteristically shy.  
"Yes. Yes, I'm still here, princess." Ali sits next to him. He can almost feel the tension of the other man's body. "Are you ok?"  
"Yes, I'm good. It's just... I don't want to be rude but Gasim... He makes me uncomfortable."  
"How so?"  
"It's the way he talks, the way he looks at me. It's not like the way you look at me, it's like he's converting me into money, like he's trying to assess me as a potential customer for his special ciggies."  
"He does that to everyone. Don't worry about him, princess, I'll protect you if you want."  
"My gallant knight." Lawrence smiles, a smile so bright, so warm it could easily end world hunger, cure cancer and reduce pollution.  
"I'll be your gallant knight if that's what you want." Ali smiles back.  
"You'd have to deal with my annoying habits."  
"I think I can handle that."  
"And my v-necks."  
"What?!"  
"I noticed the way you look at me, Ali, I'm not blind, you know."  
"I'm sorry, princess." Ali is mortified now, embarrassed and worried that he may have upsest Lawrence. "I'm so sorry."  
"Don't be. To be honest, it was a little awkward at first but I found that I... I like it. It makes me feel good about myself."  
"You are very beautiful."  
"You are too kind."   
"I'm just being honest."  
"Ali, I want... I _need_ you to understand... It feels good but I... I don't want a fling. A one-night stand. I don't want to be friends with benefits. I _can't_ be friends with benefits..."  
"Princess, I understand." Ali takes Lawrence's hand, stroking its knuckles with his thumb. All of a sudden he realizes that they're alone in the backyard, that everyone's gone back inside. "I don't want a fling either."  
Lawrence's eyes widen to an almost impossible size, his mouth drops open, then quickly snaps shut.  
"Well" Ali says softly "Since for once we both agree about something let's see where this goes. Does that work for you?"  
"Yes, yeah, I think it does."  
"Wonderful." Ali leans forward and kisses Lawrence's smooth cheek.   
"Yes, wonderful."  
"Do you want to go back in there or...?"  
"We can go back in for a bit. I am having fun."  
So they go back inside. Lawrence plays another game on the playstation, giving Daud a chance to try and reclaim his flower crown. Ali watches with a smile on his face. Of course Majid immediately notices that smile and teases him mercilessly but Ali doesn't mind. He feels oddly content. Not warm or fuzzy, not elated, just... content. Happy with the knowledge that Lawrence has feelings for him, feelings that go beyond physical attraction. Of course he realizes that they might not last very long or might just be an illusion caused by the fact that they've been living together in Ali's flat for a while now but still he feels happy. And that is good.  
They don't stay long. Ali can see that Lawrence wants to talk, to explore whatever it is that's going on between them. He wants to talk as well. Hell, he wants to do things! He wants to kiss and touch and stroke... But not yet. Not now. It's too soon. Ali doesn't want to frighten Lawrence or push him away. He wants him to be comfortable and happy and at ease. Hopefully later there will be time for kisses, touching, for other things.  
They walk home in silence. Then Ali sets about making tea while Lawrence makes himself comfortable on the sofa. Neither one speaks. By now the silence has become painfully awkward.  
"So." Lawrence finally says in a voice that's supposed to sound casual but really isn't.  
"Yes?" Ali tries to be casual too and fails just as badly.  
"That gallant knight thing. Are you serious about it?"  
"Yes, princess, I'm serious."  
"Good. So am I. I don't want a fling."  
"I know. Neither do I. I thought we already established that."  
"We did. It's just that... You should know that I... I've done... things with Vyvyan, you know, kissing and a little touching. But nothing more than that..."  
"Are you trying to tell me you're a virgin?"  
"Yes." Lawrence's blush is almost as red as the flower crown he's still wearing. At that moment Ali is thankful for the fact that he's sitting down and that he's not holding his mug because he would probably have dropped it. He could never have expected such a revelation. But here it is, blushing, waiting for his reaction.  
"Listen to me, princess. I won't hurt you. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. We have time. We'll see where this goes, right? If it turns into something more then it does and if it doesn't then it doesn't. Either way the world won't fall apart."  
"It won't." Lawrence nods. He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the flower crown. He removes it completely and places it on top of the nearest stack of books. "Ali?"  
"Yes?"  
"You called me beautiful today."  
"Because you are."  
"You are very handsome too, you know. I'll be honest with you. I was smitten the moment I set eyes on you."  
"Really?" Ali can feel his heart pounding in his chest.  
"Yes, really. I've never felt anything like that before. This sort of instant attraction. And it wasn't just physical, you know. Well, at first it was... But the more time I spent with you the more I began to realize that I actually really like you as a person."  
"Seriously?! I wasn't exactly pleasant towards you."  
"Not always but I do like a challenge."  
"So all the v-necks and so on? Was that you trying to..."  
"The v-necks? Yes. As soon as I noticed the way you look at me. But the rest? Unfortunately that is just me." Lawrence laughs nervously.  
"May I kiss you?" Ali asks with all the courage he possesses.  
"Yes." Lawrence says very softly. So Ali kisses him, gently and chastely, just lips against lips. It's unlike anything he's ever done before, it's sweet, tender and quite possibly it's made time stop for a good minute or so.   
"That was lovely. Lovely. Amazing. So unlike Vyvyan" Lawrence starts babbling nervously "He would always try to... you know... eat my face..."  
"He obviously had no idea what he was doing." Ali moves closer and silences the babbling with another kiss, his arm sliding smoothly around Lawrence's neck. God, he's wanted this for weeks, he's imagined this every night in the privacy of his bedroom, the feel of those beautifully sculpted lips, the taste of that mouth. Yet the products of Ali's imagination can't compare with reality, with how the soft flesh of Lawrence's lips yields to him, such complete and trusting surrender.   
"Ali..." Lawrence murmures, their foreheads now pressed together, his breath warm against Ali's skin.  
"Princess."  
"Will you hold me?"  
"Absolutely. Come here." Ali shifts and then carefully guides Lawrence, helping him rearrange himself on the sofa, pulling him closer, arms enveloping that lean body. He feels a little bit surprised, he's never seen himself as the cuddling type and most of his lovers have never really expected to be held. Yet here he is, sitting on the sofa, having a cuddle, a simple, non-sexual cuddle, and he's enjoying it. Lawrence feels warm and happy, snug against Ali's ribs, like he was always meant to be there. His hair smells of some sort of styling product and cigarette smoke. Ali kisses it gently, reverently, another thing he's never done with anyone before, never felt the need to do. But now he does, he wants to be gentle, he wants to give Lawrence the softness and tenderness the man seems to crave.  
 _But can I?_ Doubt suddenly raises its ugly head.   
_Yes, I think I can, for him_. Ali tells the doubt firmly. He tightens his hold on Lawrence.   
_I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence's Instagram ID was inspired by the Latin plaque commemorating him in Jesus College, Oxford.  
> Ali's friends' names are borrowed from Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Some of them will be making appearances in later chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

Ali doesn't like uncertainty. It makes him feel insecure, on edge. It's been months since the day he and Lawrence decided to give each other a chance.  
Months.  
Ali doesn't believe in rushing things, especially in matters of the heart. He's been very patient, careful and gentle towards Lawrence, following the Englishman's lead. There have been kisses, casual touching, all the little things couples do for each other everyday but nothing that would define this relationship. Ali wants some sort of definition, something to tell him where he stands. Right now he is nervous and confused by his own feelings. He has somehow gone from being annoyed by Lawrence to wanting him in a purely sexual way and then to this new, almost forgotten feeling. This desire to just... be with Lawrence, to see him smile, to make him happy.  
What if Lawrence has changed his mind? What if he doesn't want commitment? What if he doesn't feel about Ali the way Ali feels about him?  
Everyday Ali makes Lawrence breakfast, gives him a kiss and drives them both to work, usually with a pitstop at Starbucks. Then in the evenings he drives them back home, prepares food and scolds Lawrence for trying to carry on working after hours. After dinner Ali puts on a CD and they spend the rest of the evening on the sofa, reading, talking, cuddling. Then Lawrence has one of his long baths. He returns wearing nothing but what appears to be a light blue thawb altered into a dressing gown. He smells of soap and shampoo, stray drops of water roll from his hair onto his neck, the sight driving Ali mad with want. It takes all his self-control not to act on that want. He distracts himself with a newspaper or book until it is time to go to sleep. He kisses Lawrence goodnight and each retires to his own bed.  
"What are you reading?" Lawrence looms over Ali, fresh out of the bath, modestly wrapped in his dressing gown. Swiftly he plucks Ali's book from his hands. "Ernest Dowson. I like Ernest Dowson." He begins leafing through the book. He rests his knee on the edge of the sofa, the movement opening his robe slightly, baring pale skin. Ali swallows with some difficulty, gaze fixed on the alluring shadow cast by the fabric. He imagines himself touching, kissing that naked thigh, pushing the robe aside... Stop! He can feel himself hardening and he carefully changes position on the sofa, praying that Lawrence doesn't notice anything. He takes a deep breath, lets it out very slowly, like he's blowing out a candle.  
"You alright?" There is concern in Lawrence's voice. The Englishman drops to his knees and Ali almost combusts on the spot.  
"Yes, princess, I'm fine."  
"You don't look fine." Lawrence reaches out and Ali captures his hand, kissing it lightly.  
"I am." He tries his best to sound reassuring.  
"Really?"  
"Yes." Ali gets to his feet, hoping that his body doesn't decide to embarrass him and heads to his bedroom. He changes into pair of sweatpants and starts setting up his workout playlist. He needs to let off steam.  
"Ali?" The knock on the bedroom door is so sudden Ali almost drops his laptop.  
"What is it, princess?"  
"Can we talk, please? If you're not asleep, that is."  
Oh God. Ali braces himself and opens the door.  
"You didn't kiss me goodnight." Lawrence unceremoniously pushes past him, a whirlwind of blue fabric, golden hair and soap. "You always kiss me..." His voice trails away into stunned silence as he realises that Ali is shirtless. His lips move for a second before coming to an open-mouthed halt.  
"Princess, I'm sorry I didn't kiss you goodnight." Ali quickly takes advantage of that silence. "I was worried that if I did I would lose control."  
"You're not wearing a shirt." Lawrence says bluntly.  
"What?!"  
"You know, I've never seen you naked."  
"I'm not naked. I've got pants on. And I've never seen you naked either."  
"I know" Lawrence turns away from Ali and walks towards the window. He looks tense but also vulnerable and Ali's heart trembles in his chest like a little captive bird. He wants to say something, to ease that tension. But for the first time in his life he doesn't know what to do. Finally, he hesitantly touches Lawrence's shoulder.  
"May I give you that goodnight kiss now?"  
"Yes, oh yes, please." Lawrence's face brightens up instantly. So Ali kisses him soundly, pulling him as close as possible, hands roving over the other man's shoulders and back. Lawrence's hands are wandering too, exploring Ali's bare chest. They're a little shy, those hands but it's absolutely not off-putting, it's endearing and adorable.  
"I want you." Lawrence breathes. "I want more."  
"And I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."  
There is movement between them, the rustle of fabric, then Lawrence's graceful long fingers grip Ali's wrists and guide his hands inside the now open robe. His skin is unbelievably warm and smooth, like silk.  
"You smell nice" Ali murmures as he buries his face in that spot where Lawrence's neck and shoulder connect, showers that beautiful collarbone with kisses, moves to the other one, then up that lovely long neck. It feels amazing, all that taut muscle, the sweet scent of soap and coconut shampoo. Lawrence trembles in Ali's arms, grasping at him for support, leaning backwards at an almost impossible angle, trying to give him as much access as he can.  
"Ali..." He moans softly.  
"I've got you." Ali says just as softly. "Bed?"  
"Mhmm."  
They almost don't make it to the bed in the fervour of undressing, tripping over pants and robes. The bed is a fine sturdy thing, handcrafted, with an intricately carved wooden headboard. There is a long red satin ribbon tied to one of the carvings, a reminder of one of Ali's one night stands. How he wishes he'd removed the stupid ribbon! Of course Lawrence notices the damned thing straight away. Oddly, he doesn't laugh or make any sarcastic comments. In fact he looks intrigued. This is not something Ali would usually do with a virgin but if at any point Lawrence hints at wanting to make use of the ribbon Ali will indulge him.  
Right now Ali is being kissed extremely thoroughly and he can't think of anything other than Lawrence's hot mouth on his own. It feels incredible and parting is an almost herculean feat. But then Ali descends onto that beautiful white neck and Lawrence arches against him. "That's good... I like that..."  
"Good." Ali whispers against his skin "I want you to enjoy this."  
"I am... Ah!" Lawrence cries out as Ali reaches between his legs, finds his hardness, strokes it gently but oh so firmly.  
"Beautiful." Ali gasps, his own shaft aching with arousal and months of longing. He moves lower, capturing a nipple with his lips, loving the resulting moan and feel of the flesh hardening beneath his tongue. He bites it lightly, earning himself a particularly loud cry of pleasure.  
"I want you." Lawrence moans beneath him. "Please."  
"My princess."  
Blue eyes darken with desire and emotion. At that moment Ali realises that there is nothing in this world he wouldn't do for this man, this annoying, arrogant, beautiful, sweet man. This man, who cries over destroyed art, works tirelessly and simply wants ancient artefacts to find their righteous places in the world's museums.  
With extreme difficulty Ali pulls away from Lawrence and lunges for his bedside table so violently he finds himself dangerously close to falling off the bed. Hands shaking, he fumbles through the drawers in search of lube and condoms. The fact that Lawrence is watching him does not help matters at all.  
"Are you sure you want this?" Ali pauses his frantic search.  
"I'm sure."  
"Good." Having found what he was after Ali returns to bed. Firmly he pushes Lawrence's knees apart and begins trailing kisses along one pale thigh. He goes very slowly and deliberately, teasing, then moving further. Lawrence trembles beneath his ministrations, moaning softly. Probably involuntarily, his hand makes its way down his chest, his stomach, lower, towards his arousal and that motion awakens something inside Ali, a fierce desire to be the only source of Lawrence's pleasure. Very quickly, he moves forward, grasping the offending hand, then the other one, pinning both above Lawrence's head and starts wrapping the red ribbon around them. "I don't think so."  
"This is... different." Lawrence whispers.  
"Bad different?" Ali freezes, the ends of the ribbon still in his hands, the knot unfinished.  
"It's... not bad. New, yes, new."  
"Do you want me to continue?"  
"Yes!" There is a desperate edge to that usually calm voice. "Ask me one more time, colonel and I swear I will..."  
"Do what?" Ali teases as he finishes the knot. "Whinge at me?"  
"I can be very whingey." Lawrence tests the ties, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't. He looks like temptation personified, bare and bound on Ali's bed, framed by the white pillows.  
"You're so beautiful, princess, I could look at you forever." Ali tells him, as he busies himself with the condom and lube. "Ready?"  
Lawrence nods nervously, the movement quick and tight. Gently, Ali moves his legs further apart and pushes a generously lubed finger into the tight heat of the other man's body. He goes slowly but steadily, working the muscles until he can add a second finger, preparing, searching, exploring. Finding.  
"O'm'god!" Lawrence's hips buck upwards against his hand. Ali gasps, awestruck and aching with want. Carefully, he seeks out the spot he's just touched, finds it once more, earns himself another sweet cry.  
"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful." Ali murmures as he positions himself between those long, invitingly open legs. Lawrence feels incredible, hot and tight and wet with lube. But he's also tensing up so Ali slows down, strokes Lawrence's hair, his cheek, his thigh. "I'm here, I've got you."  
Lawrence arches up as far as the ties will let him and captures Ali's mouth in a slow kiss. As the kiss deepens he relaxes, sinks back onto the pillows and Ali allows himself to be pulled down. Carefully, he thrusts and Lawrence gasps.  
"Alright?" Ali asks, concerned.  
"Yeah."  
Ali moves again, a little deeper now, faster. Long legs wrap around him, pulling him closer. Then Lawrence cries out and Ali knows he's found the right angle, the right rhythm. He focuses on maintaining that rhythm, repeating that angle, elicits another cry out of Lawrence, this one's different, higher in pitch than the previous ones, it weirdly reminds Ali of Andreas Scholl and he loses his pace for a split second.  
"More..." Lawrence begs shamelessly and Ali gives him more, thrusting harder, burying his face in the crook of that graceful neck, sucking on the tender skin there, biting, that's going to leave a mark for sure but he really doesn't care. Lawrence is trembling beneath him, flushed pink, glistening with sweat, beautiful, teetering on the brink of ecstasy and Ali moves to slide a hand between them, to give him what he wants. But he doesn't get a chance to do that. Lawrence's entire body seizes up and he comes, just like that. Surprised, Ali follows him over the edge. Of course, he's perfectly aware that this can happen, that there are men who can come just from the stimulation of being penetrated but he's never actually seen it happen, not until now. And, god, does it feel good to be the only one to bring Lawrence such pleasure.  
"Ali..." Lawrence gasps for breath "Oh, Ali..."  
"Did you enjoy that?" Ali fumbles with the ribbon, releasing Lawrence's hands. Gently he pulls the man into his arms, showering his flushed face with kisses.  
"Yes... Felt good." Lawrence murmures, his voice little more than a whisper. "Liberating..."  
"Liberating?!"  
"Yeah... Didn't have to think... worry if I'm doing it right... could just be, just enjoy."  
"So you're not upset or anything like that?"  
"No!" With some effort Lawrence lifts his head and kisses Ali softly "I like it when you're a bit more... forceful, for want of a better word."  
"And here was I thinking that you wanted tenderness."  
"Can I not want both tenderness and forcefulness?"  
"Of course you can, princess. Now rest, you need it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. I needed a rest. Also, I had family visiting and we took a trip to Oxford, which was absolutely lovely.  
> Oxford will make a lengthy appearance later in this story.  
> Here are the pieces mentioned in this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AoSK7W620Ns  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BcOyojBU3hs  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36Y_ztEW1NE  
> I mean no offence, I literally selected them by hitting shuffle on my own playlist.

Ali wakes in an empty bed. Momentarily he panics before registering the whoosh of the kettle and the clink of cups. Lawrence must be making breakfast. Ali follows the sounds to the kitchen. Just as he thought, Lawrence, fully clothed, is preparing coffee.

"'Morning, princess." Ali kisses Lawrence's hair, then his temple and his cheek. He's bathed again and he smells heavenly.

"'Morning." Lawrence hands him a cup and walks away without as much as a glance at Ali, his own cup forgotten on the kitchen counter. Ali considers following him, decides not to. Maybe the man needs a minute alone, he tells himself, he's just had sex for the first time in his life, maybe he needs to process that. But the longer Ali thinks the more worried he gets.

_What if I hurt him?_

Finally his anxiety gets the better of him and Ali follows Lawrence into the living room. The Englishman is curled up on the sofa, toying with his phone.

"Out with it, princess." Ali crouches on the floor in front of him. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really."

"And I was born yesterday. You're tense, you won't even look at me..."

"I told you, it's nothing!" Lawrence moves as if to stand but Ali places two hands on his knees, stilling him. "

Please, princess. Talk to me, I worry about you."

"Why should you? You got what you wanted."

"Oh. My. God." Ali is shocked. "Do you really think I'm one of those guys?! That I've had you and now I'm going to discard you like a used toy?"

Lawrence doesn't answer but he doesn't have to. His eyes, now swimming with tears, say it all. The arrogant, self-confident facade is gone. What is left is insecurity, fear, doubt and something else, something Ali can't quite place.

"Oh princess" Ali takes Lawrence's hands in his, stroking the knuckles "I would never hurt you like that. I could never."

"Ali..."

"I'm serious. I could never hurt you. You are beautiful and sweet and smart and caring. You deserve the very best, you deserve to be happy, to be loved and cherished. And now I'm babbling like an idiot because I might be a big tough man but deep down I am quite soft and you bring out this softness in me. You make me want to be careful, gentle, tender. You can be infuriating too but I don't mind it, actually I think I would miss it if you stopped and I think I'm in love with you, at least that's what Majid said a while back, he says I only call people infuriating when I'm in love with them..."

"Stop. Slow down. Rewind." Lawrence interrupts him abruptly. "What did you just say?"

"That Majid..." Ali begins but Lawrence interrupts him again.

"No, not Majid. Just before you mentioned Majid, what did you say?"

"I said I think I'm in love with you."

A solitary tear rolls down Lawrence's cheek. "You... Really?"

"Yes, princess, really." Ali leans forward and strokes the tear away.

"I... I think I'm in love with you as well."

"My princess." Ali smiles. Lawrence smiles back, still tearful but no longer tense.

"My knight in shining armour." He says softly. He's sitting on the very edge of the sofa now, his lips mere inches away from Ali's. They're fascinating, those lips, incredibly sensuous, feminine in shape, soft, if a little dry. Ali captures them with his own, pulling Lawrence close, upsetting their balance. They both end up on the floor, a giddy, laughing tangle of limbs. Shirts come undone, roughly pushed out of the way, hands roam, followed closely by adventurous mouths.

"Bed... Now!" Lawrence gasps. Ali just smiles and carries him back to the bedroom.

 

"Tell me about your family." Ali says, rolling onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. They've been in bed all day, leaving only to go to the kitchen or the bathroom. Everything else - phones, lube, laptop - is scattered on the floor, just within reach.

"I don't know where to start." Lawrence shifts awkwardly. He's lying on his stomach, his head pillowed on his hands. Ali can't resist, he runs his fingers down the smooth white skin of Lawrence's back.

"Tell me about your parents." He suggests.

"Oh my god. My father used to be my mother's boss. Namely she was his children's nanny. He left his wife to be with her. But he never divorced and therefore never married my mother. I always thought she was a bit of a hypocrite to agree to that, given how religious she is. She's a very strict Christian. She used to beat us, me and my brothers, beating the sin out of us, she called it. If we didn't do our chores we wouldn't get dinner, you know, who doesn't work and so on. Father tried to talk to her about it but she never listened to him, in fact I'd say he was very much under her shoe, in the end he stopped protesting. I think my elder brother Bob takes after him. He's never ever questioned Mother. He does exactly what she tells him to do. Lives at home, doesn't have a girlfriend, goes to church, a perfect Christian son." Lawrence laughs bitterly. Ali's heart aches at the sound. He rolls closer and kisses the nape of Lawrence's neck, moving down his spine, towards his shoulderblade.

"I'm so sorry, princess." He feels guilty for asking, he was not prepared for such a story. Lawrence just purrs softly, obviously enjoying what Ali is doing to his back.

"There were five of us." He says after a long silence. "Me, Bob, Frank, Will and Arnie. Bob's Mothers's favourite, the perfect godly son. Arnie used to be her favourite because he's the youngest. But then he got into the wrong crowd as Mother likes to say."

"The wrong crowd? As in gangs? Drugs?" Ali pauses hs gentle ministrations.

"Don't stop." Lawrence scolds him good-naturedly "Arnie's into rock, metal, all the heavy stuff. Which, according to Mother, is satanic. On top of that he's got this girlfriend, he's planning to marry her. Mother hates her guts."

"She's a right piece of work, your mum." "She sure is. You know, when she found out I was gay she tried to place me in therapy."

"Shit, princess!" Ali sits up, horrified.

"It was very expensive, the treatment." Lawrence continues. "Father refused to pay for it. That's probably the only reason I didn't go. Mother was livid. We have this bungalow in the garden, I ended up moving into it just to get away from her. She thinks I'm a disappointment, you know. I'm gay, I don't go to church. I'm the spawn of Satan, right?"

"You're my spawn of Satan. And I will never let anybody hurt you ever again, not even your own family." Ali vows. His voice is steady but his insides are shaking with rage. Lawrence seems to sense that bubbling anger. He rolls onto his side and places his hand on Ali's chest.

"Please don't get upset on my account." He implores.

"How can I not?! They're your parents, they should be supportive!" Ali pulls him into his arms, kisses the top of his head. Lawrence lets out a breathy sigh, melting into the caress. His fingers dance over Ali's shoulder, tapping lightly.

"The only thing they were ever supportive about was education. We all went to university. Mother will never admit it but she's extremely proud of that. Five sons with Oxford degrees, who else can boast something like that?" Lawrence's phone starts ringing. Immediately he scrambles out of Ali's arms and answers with a slight roll of his eyes. "Yes, mother?"

Ali covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. Perfect timing, he thinks to himself, watching as Lawrence wraps the thin bedsheet around himself, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. "Vyvyan came to collect his books? Lovely... Yes... Fine... I don't know, mother, we've barely scratched the surface. It's going to be months at least." Lawrence winks at Ali. "Of course there is always the possibility of me being offered a more... permanent job here..."

Ali scoots over to where Lawrence is sitting and wraps an arm around him. Teasingly he runs his fingers through the Englishman's hair, then down the side of his neck and shoulder. Lawrence squirms against him but carries on talking. "If it comes up I will consider it, mother. I like it here. It's a very... stimulating environment."

Ali laughs softly in the back of his throat, his lips following the path his fingers had just taken. "No, I'm not working today, it is Sunday after all." Lawrence's voice trembles ever so slightly. Ali smiles to himself and gently but firmly guides him to lie back on the bed. He slips his hand under the tangled bed sheet, lets it wander aimlessly for a while. Lawrence's breath hitches. Ali winks at him, earning himself an indignant smack to the chest.

"I'm in bed, mother." Lawrence rolls his eyes again "Relaxing is not a sin... I work 12 hour days, mother, surely God will not frown upon one single day of rest."

Ali shifts to the edge of the bed, pushes the sheet aside, lifts Lawrence's leg and nibbles on his ankle. Lawrence gasps and tries to twist his foot away, almost kicking Ali in the face. "Mother, I'm not telling Arnold anything! He's a grown-arse man, for goodness' sake. He earns his own money, right? So if he wants to take his girlfriend to Glastonbury then he sure can. I'm going... I'm going, mother, bye, bye-bye... bye."

"That was tedious." Ali plucks the phone from Lawrence's elegant hand and places it back on the floor.

"Yes and you were not helping."

"You weren't complaining."

"True." Lawrence laughs. "Put some music on."

"Anything for my princess." Ali pecks him on the nose before reaching for the laptop and opening Spotify. He can't be bothered to choose a playlist so he just hits shuffle and returns to bed. Lully's March for the Turkish Ceremony comes on, Lawrence hums it softly as Ali ties his hands to the headboard and disentangles him from the bed sheet. His body vibrates with the melody, with anticipation, excitement. Then Dinu Lipatti's rendition of Bach's Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring comes on, the softness of the piano envelopes them and the rest of the world fades away. All that matters is Lawrence, beautiful, fantastically responsive, arching into every caress, begging for more but somehow unable to say exactly what sort of "more" he wants. Ali teases him a bit, showering kisses over his hipbones, the insides of his thighs, finally taking him in his mouth, driving him wild with desire, stopping just before the edge. Frustrated, Lawrence fights against the ribbon securing his hands to the headboard. Ali soothingly strokes his arm from wrist to elbow, then reaches for the lube. Lawrence's eyes slip shut, his legs fall open, enticing. He's impatient, desperately trying to ride Ali's fingers, even though he's bound and pinned to the bed. Ali enters him and the music changes again, from the slight raspiness of baroque instruments and tracks copied from old vinyls to something a lot more vocal. It's a choral piece, the multitude of voices flowing and ebbing in perfect harmony, alternating between monody and polyphony. The heel of Lawrence's foot rubs into Ali's back. All his impatience is gone now, he surrenders, oh so sweetly surrenders to the pace set by Ali and the music.

"You're mine." Ali murmures into the curve of Lawrence's neck.

"Yours... Yes..." Lawrence moans "Please... please..."

He's almost incoherent with pleasure and desire, Ali notes with satisfaction and speeds up. There it is again, that high-pitched Andreas Scholl-like sound. It's unbelievably arousing, that little sound. Ali thrusts harder, his hand in Lawrence's hair, pulling his head back, his mouth on that lovely neck, sucking on the mark he'd left there only yesterday.

"Please... I need... Oh, oh _yes_..." The choir hits a particularly high note and Lawrence comes, his body tightening around Ali and the world explodes in blinding whiteness. It takes Ali a good couple of minutes to regain control over his muscles. Next to him Lawrence is completely limp, motionless, except for his chest, rapidly rising and falling as he gasps for breath. Gently, Ali cleans them up, then unties Lawrence's hands and pulls him into his arms, showering him with kisses.

"You're amazing." He murmures. "Absolutely amazing."

"Hardly that." Lawrence sounds dazed, drowsy, his words slightly slurred, his vocal cords as loose as his frame. His breathing is beginning to even, he's dozing off. Ali lets him, there's no point in fighting over that comment, not when they're having such a lovely, peaceful day. Ali can't remember the last time he's done anything like this. Probably never, to be honest, not with the kind of life he's been leading. Between university, travelling and the army he's never had time for a proper relationship.

 _You could go back to university_ , a little voice in Ali's head says, _you've done your bit for king and country._

 _T_ _here's still plenty to be done_ , Ali tells it.

 _Yeah, like pick up the pieces. That's why Lawrence is here_ , the voice retorts, _what was it that you wanted to do just before you decided to join the army?_

 _Get my PhD_ , Ali sighs deeply, struck by a sudden melancholy.

 _You can still do that, you've already got a degree, why not take it further_? the little voice wheedles. Ali finds that he can hardly protest. It won't hurt to try, if anything it will bring him and Lawrence closer. Lawrence shifts in Ali's arms, moans softly and rolls over onto his other side. Ali follows him swiftly, spooning him, the scent of sweat and aftershave flooding his nostrils. He squeezes Lawrence's lithe waist gently and drifts off into peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where movieverse meets history. The names of Lawrence's brothers are accurate, as is the story of how his parents became a couple. Bob did stay at home and never had a family of his own. The only one to actually get married and then have kids was Arnold. Of course, irl Arnold was not a metalhead.  
> In regards to Mother, she was quite a strict and religious person who ruled her household with an iron fist. She was not above beating her children.  
> This is a work of fiction and I mean no disrespect to anyone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Is this too much?" Lawrence calls out from the hallway. He's examining himself in the only full-length mirror. He looks perfect, dressed in black skinny jeans and a white shirt, which he's left untucked, the sleeves rolled up. Ali can't resist the temptation. He grips Lawrence from behind and pulls him as close as possible so that he can admire their reflection in the mirror.

"You look fantastic." With a smile Ali dips his head to kiss behind Lawrence's ear.

"You think so?"

"I do. But if it were up to me I'd put you in a corset." Ali splays his hands wide over Lawrence's waist "A black corset. One of those goth underbust ones. I wouldn't lace it tight, just a little pinch, yeah? You don't need to be laced up tight."

"I'm sure your parents would love that. You bringing home a corseted foreigner."

"How do you feel about piercings, princess?" Ali ventures, his lips moving against Lawrence's neck. "We could pierce your ear, give you a nice gold earring. Something big and opulent. Something... baroque."

Lawrence laughs loudly, tossing his head back, giving Ali more access to his neck. "What is it you see in me, Ali?"

"I see beauty. I see intelligence. I see a brilliant if not entirely sane, mind. I see a kind heart and a gentle soul."

"What if your parents don't like me?" Lawrence nervously rubs his wrist. "Are they really okay with you being gay?"

"My parents strive to be the change they want to see." Ali gives Lawrence's waist a reassuring squeeze. "They already like what I told them about you. I'm sure they won't change their minds once they meet you."

Lawrence, apparently reassured, turns his head and rubs his nose against Ali's, demanding a kiss. And Ali kisses him slowly, imagining that they're standing beneath a thin, gossamer-like veil, shrouded by it from head to foot. He imagines Lawrence dressed in a white thawb with a high collar and little golden buttons, a very, very long thawb, so long it forms a large pool of fabric on the floor around his feet. Ali imagines the thawb a bit more figure-hugging, a tempting sheath of silk, accentuating Lawrence's lithe waist, the slight curve of his hips. Ali laughs to himself. He's done plenty of mental undressing in his life, this is the first time he's mentally dressed somebody.

"What's so funny?" Lawrence asks. His accent has improved greatly since his arrival in Aqaba. Of course he still slips into that upper-class Oxford lilt of his every now and then but he doesn't sound obviously foreign anymore.

"It's nothing, princess, I'm just happy, that's it." Ali gives Lawrence one more squeeze. "Come, beauty, we don't want to be late."

 

Ali smiles fondly at the sight before him. Lawrence is sitting on the floor at Ali's dad's feet, explaining his thesis on crusader castles, his elegant hands painting invisible towers and courtyards in midair. Dad looks fascinated, listening intently, every now and then adding a comment of his own or asking a question. To think that mere minutes ago he'd been eyeing Lawrence suspiciously, disdainfully, just because the man had said he liked Elgar. Dad doesn't like Elgar but then to Dad the history of music ends with Haydn (with the exception, oddly, of Arvo Part).

"He's like a ray of sunshine." Mum says, sitting beside Ali on the sofa.

"That he is." Ali turns on face her. "He can also be infuriating..."

"You only call people infuriating when you're in love with them." Mum interrupts, a knowing smile on her face.

"First Majid, now you! Et tu, Brutus?!"

"He is nice. Polite, educated, his Arabic is _very_ good. I like him. So does your father."

Ali nods. He feels incredibly grateful and lucky to have such loving, open-minded parents. Not all young men and women are as fortunate as he is. God knows Lawrence isn't. Ali makes sure to explain that to Mum who is outraged and immediately declares herself Lawrence's foster mum. The Englishman doesn't hear that, his entire attention is on Dad and the story of how he went from studying accounting to studying music to working in the tax office. And he's not just politely listening, he's actually interested.

"He's so sweet." Ali says softly. "Infuriating but sweet."

His phone vibrates briefly in his pocket, signalling a text. He decides to ignore it. If it's really important they'll ring him. Lawrence shifts awkwardly on the floor, his own phone now vibrating. He too ignores it.

"Shouldn't you answer that?" Ali's father asks.

"It's just a text. If it's really important they will ring." Lawrence tells him. At that precise moment the phone starts ringing. Lawrence excuses himself and heads into the hallway to answer, Ali hot on his heels. "What is it? Oh... Oh my. Are you sure? Where? Daraa? That's in Syria, right? Perfect... I will pull some strings... Thank you, you did a fantastic job."

"What is it?" Ali nudges him. "Please don't tell me we have to go back to work."

"We don't. Not today at least." Lawrence pockets his phone. "Do you know a man who calls himself the Bey?"

 

"The Bey..." Auda rubs his chin thoughtfully. "I've heard about him. Evil, evil son of a bitch. You don't want to be messing with him."

"He's selling stolen antiquities." Lawrence says. "It's my duty to mess with him."

"Believe me, doctor, you don't want to mess with the Bey. He makes me look like your average law-abiding citizen. I'll make threats, wave some guns around, throw a few punches, maybe break some bones. But I've never killed a man or done any permanent damage. He has. That man's got no morals whatsoever."

"The Bey is extremely dangerous." Ali adds. "Like Auda said, he mutilates and kills. And worse. That man has no morals, he does despicable things. I can't let you just walk into Daraa and demand to speak to him. It's suicide!"

"Ali, that man is selling the heritage of your country, of many other countries, the fruit of my labour and research, the fruit of many other archeologists' labour to private collectors who don't care about its significance. Those items belong in museums where they can be studied and admired. I was hired to address situations like this. If I don't go then what good am I? And who will go if not me?"

"Fuck me..." Ali groans. "There's no stopping you, is there? You're determined to go?"

"Very much so." Lawrence smiles but his eyes are burning with conviction. Ali can't say no to those shining blue eyes.

"Fine. But I'm going with you."

"I'll have one of my associates take you to Daraa." Auda interjects. "But only you and the colonel."

 

This plan, Ali thinks, is extremely flawed. First of all because it's just him, Lawrence, Auda and some guy called Mohammed, whom he has never met before. Secondly because they've been instructed by some nameless person over the internet to wait in the marketplace after midday. And because they've got no extraction plan. Ali's got two guns on him and a tracker that he's temporarily installed on Lawrence's phone along with a backup tracking device inside the Englishman's pocket. That, he feels, is not enough. He ought to have a team and maybe a hidden camera or wire. His superiors know exactly where he and what he is doing but otherwise he is on his own.

Auda and Mohammed are sitting in a street bar, completely at ease. Lawrence, effortlessly beautiful in a white v-neck and black skinny jeans, is examining a set of coffee pots. Ali strolls over to him, scanning the crowd for any indication of the Bey's presence and pretends to be interested in a silver tea pot. A short, plump man in a camouflage t-shirt pushes himself between Ali and Lawrence.

"Ross bey?" He asks, using Lawrence's chosen code-name.

"Yes." The Englishman turns away from the coffee pots.

"The Bey wants to see you." The short man says curtly. Lawrence nods and Ali makes a move to go with him.

"Only Ross bey." The man pushes him away roughly. "And no phones."

Reluctantly, Lawrence hands his phone to Ali and follows the short man into the crowd. He looks calm but there is a hint of fear in his eyes. He is an academic after all, people like him don't do jobs like this. Ali waits for a minute or so before pulling out his phone and turning on the app that will allow him to find the tracker in Lawrence's pocket. He nods at Auda who promptly rises to his feet and they set off, following the tracker's signal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a bit of fluffy happiness and silliness before everything goes to hell.  
> The next chapter is Deraa so be warned.  
> Since this is a modern day AU I have decided to use modern spelling, therefore in this story Deraa is called Daraa. It's definitely the same place, I checked.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you: this is the aftermath of the Deraa assault. Trauma and injuries are discussed.  
> Also Mother Lawrence, Bob and Arnold make an appearance. Unfortunately, Mother Lawrence is not exactly a kind or supportive parent.   
> One of Ali's friends, Zaal, who didn't make it to Majid's place a few chapters earlier, makes an appearance as well.  
> Rape victims are NEVER to be blamed for what happened to them. They didn't ask for it, they didn't "have it coming". Only one person should be blamed and shamed and that is the rapist.

Shit shit shit! Fuck! Shit! Everything's gone to hell! 

"Put your foot down!" Ali screams.

"I am putting my foot down!" Auda screams back. They're driving completely off-road now and Ali sincerely hopes that they're on Jordanian soil. They need to get to Amman as soon as possible. Lawrence sobs in Ali's arms. He's... words can't even describe the state he is in. He's been beaten horrifically, with some sort of whip, there's a bruise on his face, vaguely boot-shaped. There's also a number of bite-marks on his neck but they're nothing like the marks Ali would leave. These are savage, some are even bleeding. Ali doesn't want to think about it, about how those bite-marks could explain Lawrence's torn clothes and the sickening trails of blood dribbling down his thighs.

"Please..." Lawrence sobs. "Please, no more..."

"Hush, hush." Ali strokes his bruised, tear-wet cheek. "I've got you, princess. I've got you, darling."

Lawrence's eyes slide in and out of focus. He blinks, disoriented. "Ali?"

"Yes, princess. It's me. I've got you."

"My gallant knight..."

Ali's heart shatters in his chest. He'd been given one simple job: protect the English archaeologist. To say that he'd failed would be a huge understatement.

A mere hour later (Auda's speeding and off-road driving have shortened their journey by roughly 40 minutes) they're pulling up outside the hospital in Amman. Ali runs into the A&E, Lawrence cradled bridal style in his arms. He ignores the front desk and goes straight towards the treatment rooms, searching for a vacant one.

"Ali!" Zaal emerges from one of the treatment rooms. "What on earth...?"

Ali doesn't have a chance to answer. Zaal grabs a nearby gurney and helps him lay Lawrence on it, already calling for nurses and equipment. He's barely conscious but when his back comes into contact with the gurney Lawrence screams, bolting upright, almost falling to the floor. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Ali quickly helps him onto his side. "We're going to get you cleaned up and then you can rest."

They're running down a white corridor now, him, Zaal, some nurses and the gurney between them. Questions are being fired at him, what happened, when, how much blood has this man lost, but Ali finds himself unable to answer them. All he can manage is a desperate plea of "save him". Next thing he knows they've reached a door and Lawrence is being wheeled away from him. Ali wants to follow but Zaal stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "You can't go in here, I'm sorry. I'll come get you as soon as I'm done."  
Ali has no choice but to stay on the wrong side of that door. His legs give in beneath him and he sinks to the cold floor.   
He failed.

 

The waiting is killing Ali. He needs to do something, to keep busy. He's already notified his bosses and his parents. He's just finished texting Majid when a short sharp vibration in his pocket startles him and he realises that he's still got Lawrence's phone. He pulls it out, turns it around over and over in his hand, unsure what to do. He feels like he's invading Lawrence's privacy. But then the phone vibrates again, the screen lights up and Ali looks.

_Arnie: Wots up big bro? Did U get the bad guy?_

That must be Arnold, the younger brother Lawrence had mentioned a while ago. Forgive me, Ali thinks as he unlocks the screen and starts typing.

_Hello, this is Ali Ibn El Kharish, I'm your brother's friend. He's in hospital right now. I'll give you my number, please text me directly, I don't want to further invade your brother's privacy._

Ali quickly types in his phone number and hits send. Then he goes into Lawrence's contacts, finds the one listed as "HRH Feisal" , copies it into his own contacts and starts typing a message: _This is Ali Ibn El Kharish, I took the liberty of copying your number from Dr Lawrence's phone. We're back from Syria, L has been assaulted, we're in hospital._

By the time he's finished typing he's already received a message from a British number.

_This is Arnold Lawrence, I'm Thomas E. Lawrence's brother. What's going on?_

Ali quickly texts back: _I'm not entirely sure. He's being treated at the moment. His life is not in danger as far as I can say. Will keep you posted._

Another text arrives: _You did the right thing. On my way. F._

The door opens and out comes Zaal. He helps Ali to his feet and leads him towards his office. "We need to talk."

"Is he ok?" Ali can hear his voice trembling. He doesn't care, he's beyond caring about things like that.

"He'll live." Zaal gestures for him to sit at his desk. "And he'll make a full physical recovery. As for his mental state... I'll be honest with you, Ali, that man is severely traumatised. We had to sedate him, he wouldn't let us touch him otherwise. Do you know what happened to him?"

Ali shakes his head.

"He's been whipped. With a proper whip, not a sex shop toy. The beating was quite bad and he'll have scars for the rest of his life but that's the least of your worries. There's an internal injury."

"What?! From the beating?"

"Not from the whipping. Look, Ali." Zaal leans forward. "There's no easy way to say this. That man you brought in, he was penetrated with a foreign object, thankfully a blunt object, otherwise the injuries would have been far worse, possibly life-threatening."

"He was... penetrated?" Ali chokes. "With a blunt object?"

"You need me to spell it out? He was raped. Judging by the extent of the bleeding more than once. We collected... We collected samples from..." Zaal is visibly uncomfortable and shocked. "Let's put it this way. We found biological material that is not blood. Enough for a DNA sample."

Ali feels sick. Someone, possibly more than one person, had violated Lawrence, _his_ Lawrence, his princess. And he'd been outside, safe in Auda's car, he should have known, he should have done something. He should have protected his princess, been the gallant knight he'd promised to be.

"I've not seen such injuries since the war." Zaal says. He sounds like he's trying not to break down. "That man is going to need medication, counselling and a very good support network. He will need..."

"Can I see him?" Ali interrupts. He can't take anymore. He has to go to Lawrence.

"He's heavily sedated, when I left him he was asleep."

"Please, Zaal. I have to see him."

"OK. But don't wake him. Let him have his rest. When he does wake he might be disoriented and frightened, you may have to call someone to give him more medication. If he wants to talk about what happened to him allow it. Listen to him, don't interrupt him, don't ask any questions. Do not initiate the conversation yourself though."

"I can handle that. Just please take me to him."

 

Lawrence looks very small, curled up on the hospital bed. He's lying on his side, to avoid aggravating his wounds. Ali glances at his chart: a painkiller, a sedative and an antibiotic. Powerful combination.  
His phone vibrates. Ali pulls it out quickly, almost dropping it. It's another message from Arnold.

_How's Ned?_

It takes Ali a good minute to figure out that Ned must be what Lawrence's family call him. Ned, short for Edward. Thomas Edward. Thomas E. Suddenly he realises that he's never used Lawrence's first name. To him the Englishman has always been Princess or plain Lawrence.  
How is he going to tell Arnold what happened to his "big bro"?

_He's on a lot of meds, asleep now, resting._

_What happened?_ Arnold replies almost immediately.

 _The bad guy assaulted him_. Ali hesitates. After a minute he adds the word "sexually" and hits send.

 _Is he badly hurt?_ Again the response is almost instant. Ali tries his best to explain Lawrence's injuries, ends up rewriting the message three times before he actually sends it. His hands are starting to shake. He needs a rest. He needs to watch over Lawrence.  
There's a reclining armchair in the room. Ali drags it closer to the bed, unfolds it and settles down.

 

Ali wakes up to possibly the strangest scene he's ever witnessed. There's another armchair on the other side of the bed, occupied by crown prince Feisal, who's fast asleep and snoring ever so lightly. Hejris, Feisal's bodyguard, is dozing on a waiting room chair by the door. Auda and Majid are lying head to head on the floor, wrapped in sleeping bags. Ali can't remember them coming, they've must've arrived after he'd dozed off.  
Lawrence is still asleep but only just. He's stirring, his hand twitching on the mattress.

"No... No." He murmures. Ali wants to touch him, comfort him but he stills himself. He'd rather not frighten him.

Suddenly Lawrence bolts upright. "NO!"

"Princess." Ali grabs him by the hand. "You're safe now. I'm here."

Lawrence pulls away so rapidly he almost falls off the bed. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry, princess." Ali withdraws. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I promise."

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. I'm ruined. Unclean. I'm contaminated."

"You're not ruined, princess, not to me, never to me. You're beautiful and pure. I love you."

Lawrence makes a sound in the back of his throat and lies down, wrapping the thin hospital blanket around his shoulders, shutting his eyes. Ali is certain that he's not going back to sleep. He looks up, meets Feisal's slightly sleep-dazed eyes. The prince glances at Lawrence, then at Ali, his face contorted into a combination of horror and sadness.  
On the other side of the room Majid and Auda still sleep.

 

The next week is like a dream. A bad dream. The worst nightmare imaginable. Lawrence will not allow anyone to touch him but showers obsessively, scrubbing himself to the point of bleeding. He refuses to eat and sleeps only when medicated. When he's awake he stares into space, which Ali attributes to the amount of medication he's taking on an empty stomach. His beautiful blue eyes are empty. Blank. As if someone's extinguished the sparkle in them. Even their colour has changed. It's not that deep ocean blue anymore. It's more like cheap poster paint blue. Lifeless.

Ali is terrified and helpless. He doesn't know what to do so he improvises. He pleads with Lawrence to eat and praises him every time he acquiesces. He also praises him every time he allows his dressings to be changed. He showers him with compliments and endearments. My brave, brave princess. You ate all your soup, well done. I'm so proud of you. You handled your bandage change so well. It feels like talking to a child but maybe that's what Lawrence needs right now.

Majid is a godsend. Everyday he goes to Ali's flat (Ali refuses to leave the hospital) to pick up the mail, check the contents of the fridge and collect anything he or Lawrence might need. He returns from one of those little trips with the biggest Starbucks caramel frappuccino, complete with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Lawrence doesn't smile or say anything but he drinks the entire sugar bomb and that's more than Ali could ask for. It's a tiny spark of normality.  
Feisal is amazing too. He reads to Lawrence or plays music on his phone, anything to keep the Englishman distracted. He also makes sure Ali eats and sleeps. It feels like the old days, when they were brothers in arms, not prince and subject.

At the end of the week all hell breaks loose once again.

Ali runs into them on his way to the coffee machine. The woman is petite, her grey hair pulled back in a bun so tight it must be giving her a face-lift. The two young men are unmistakably Lawrence's brothers, the resemblance is uncanny. Ali immediately recognises Arnold, long-haired, dressed in an Iron Maiden t-shirt and carefully maintaining a distance of roughly 6 feet between himself and his mother. The other man must be Bob. He reminds Ali of the Evangelical preachers he's seen in American crime shows: uptight and uncomfortable in his cheap suit, short hair neatly combed back, briefcase in his hand.  
Ali is surprised to see them. He hadn't expected them to travel across the world to see their son and brother. But they're here so Ali approaches them. "Are you doctor Lawrence's family?"

"Finally someone who speaks English! Who are you? And where is my son?" Mrs Lawrence demands straight away.

"I'm your son's bodyguard. Let me take you to him."

"Some bodyguard you are." Mrs Lawrence snorts. "Allowing my boy to get himself into trouble."

Ali can't help but agree.

"You're Ali?" Arnold nudges his elbow. "You texted me?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Pleasure to meet you." Arnold's handshake is unexpectedly vigorous. He's quite likeable, Ali decides as he leads the way to Lawrence's room.

 

Lawrence's medication must have kicked in if the somewhat vacant look on his face is anything to go by. He still flinches when Mrs Lawrence sits on the bed and smooths his hair back. 

"Ned." She says reproachfully. "What have you done to yourself?"

"It's not his fault." Ali protests. "If you need to blame someone then blame me. I should never have allowed him to go alone."

"You're right. You shouldn't have. But he also should have been more careful."

"Now that is uncalled for." It's Feisal's turn to protest. "Your son survived something unspeakable and you have the guts to tell him he should have been more careful?!"

"And you are?" 

"I employed your son."

"And you knew about that idiotic little adventure of his into Syria?"

"Yes, I did. I gave the thumbs-up for it."

"I think you should leave. All of you."

They try arguing with Mrs Lawrence and with the doctors but the hospital's policy is clear: since Lawrence is barely able to make his own decisions his mother as next of kin can decide who gets to visit him and who doesn't. So Ali goes home. Only it doesn't feel like home anymore. It feels wrong. Lawrence should be here with him, resting, recuperating, healing. But instead he's stuck in that hospital room with a woman who keeps telling him he brought his injuries on himself. 

 

Another week passes. Ali hasn't seen or heard from Lawrence. He's tried to visit him in the hospital but to no avail. He's tried texting him a few times but has received no reply. Once more, he turns to his usual coping mechanisms, trying to burn his anxiety and stress off in the gym.

One day Arnold rings and asks to meet Ali at his flat. Ali's got nothing better to do so he agrees.

Arnold brings a crate of beer and some cardboard boxes. "Mother sent me to pick up Ned's stuff."

"Why?!" Ali's heart sinks into the pit of his stomach.

"She managed to talk him into quitting his job and returning to England with us."

"What?! No! That's impossible!"

"I'm sorry but it is. You've seen what state he's in, what with the meds and... You know what I mean. He's not fully in control of himself and Mother's using it. She's got serious control issues."

"Yeah, I noticed. Are you sure he's going home with you?"

"I'm afraid so."

"In that case I think we should round up all his stuff first. Then we can go about packing it up."

They work in silence, side by side, room by room, going from bathroom to bedroom to guestroom to hallway. It's like packing up the deceased person's belongings. Only Lawrence is physically not deceased...

"Ali? Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." Ali says as he begins assembling the cardboard boxes.

"You told Mother you're Ned's bodyguard but you told me you're his friend, yeah?"

"That's what I said."

"You're not just Ned's friend, are you?" Arnold sits beside him and reaches for a box. "I mean... The bed in the guestroom has not been slept in for weeks as far as I can tell. And Ned's dressing gown was in your bedroom..."

"Listen carefully because I will only say this once. I don't care if you approve or not. I love your brother. I love him more than anything and this whole... situation is breaking my fucking heart. I love him but I also failed him and maybe he's better off without me. But no matter what he does and where he goes he will always be the most precious being in the world to me."

"That... That's... Wow. Look, me and Ned are cool. He's gay and I'm perfectly fine with it. If Mother and Bob are not happy then it's their problem."

Arnold, Ali decides, is definitely likeable.

They talk a bit as they pack. Arnold tells a few embarrassing childhood stories, in exchange Ali tells him about his time in the army (but only the pleasant things, like the pranks he and Feisal used to play on the junior officers). They take a break, have a beer, finish packing, then Ali orders a shipping service to pick up the boxes and insists on paying for it out of his own pocket. Arnold protests, offering to pay him back but Ali won't have it. He can take care of Lawrence's belongings, it's the last good thing he can do for him.

"I guess this is goodbye." Arnold hoists his brother's leather bag onto his shoulder. The four-wheel suitcase is waiting for him in the hallway.

"I guess so. Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?" Ali offers, hoping for a chance to see Lawrence one last time.

"No, thanks, I'll be fine. But... thanks for looking after Ned. He can be a handful."

"Yeah." Ali can't help but smile.

"He always spoke very fondly of you, you know. Never mentioned that you two were together, I think you can guess why..."

"Your mother."

"Yep. But whenever he talked about you his voice would go all soft and tender. You're very important to him."

"And he is to me."

"I can tell." Arnold smiles. "Just by the way you look at him. And your voice also goes soft when you talk about him."

"I know I can't stop him going back to England but please will you let him that if he ever wants to talk to me..." Ali's voice hitches. He bites his lip to stop himself from sobbing.

"I will tell him that."

"And if you ever need me or if you think he needs me but is being an ass about it then you know how to reach me."

"I sure do. Thank you once again." With that Arnold steps outside and shuts the door. Ali sinks to the floor and weeps.


	8. Chapter 8

The flat doesn't feel like home. Ali can't stand it. He goes back to work as soon as possible. He holds doors, does all the heavy lifting, even goes on coffee runs. He makes sure everyone's fed, watered and rested, just like Lawrence used to do. He divides his spare time between the gym, his parents and Majid, returning to the flat only when he absolutely must. He hates it there. It's too quiet, too empty. The bed isn't his anymore, it feels too big. The stupid red ribbon is still tied to the headboard. Ali contemplates removing it, ends up sleeping with it wrapped around his hand.

He keeps buying too much food, unable to adjust to being a single man once more. Majid is more than happy to take any extra fruit or vegetables. He's worried about Ali and so are Mum and Dad. They try to talk to him but Ali just snaps at them. Later he feels guilty and stupid. Uneasy too, he's never been like this before.

A month after that fateful trip to Daraa Ali finds a teacup stashed on the balcony, between the deckchair and the railing. It's absolutely disgusting, all covered in mould but Ali smiles tearfully at it. Silly princess, making himself cups of tea, forgetting them, abandoning them wherever. Ali texts Lawrence about it but doesn't get a reply.

A few weeks before Independence Day Ali discovers a black v-neck stuck behind the washing machine and another one at the bottom of his laundry basket. The t-shirts still smell of aftershave and sweat. Ali sleeps with them until the scent fades. 

In August Ali steps on an eyeliner, cracking it with his boot. He has no idea where it came from. He texts Lawrence but once again receives no answer.

"You should go on holiday." Feisal says when he drops by in October. "You need a rest."

"I'm fine." Ali tells him.

"Bullshit." Feisal mutters in a very un-princely fashion. Then the phone rings and Ali almost has a heart attack when he sees the caller ID.

"Arnold?" He's beyond shocked. "What's going on?"

"Oh thank fuck, Ali. I was worried you wouldn't answer." 

"Don't be stupid. Why wouldn't I answer?! What's going on?"

"It's Ned."

"Oh God. Is he...?"

"Physically he's healed. But mentally... He's a mess, Ali, a fucking mess and we don't know what to do. I was hoping that maybe if you came over..."

"Hold your horses, Arnold. I don't think your brother wants to see me."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's ignored every text I sent him." Ali shakes his head at Feisal who's now mouthing the word "idiot" at him.

"Bob's been deleting your texts."

"I'm sorry, what?! Wait, my boss is here, I'm gonna put you on loudspeaker." 

"Hi, Ali's boss!" Arnold says a little louder than necessary, as if he doesn't trust the phone to do what it's meant to. "As I was saying, Bob's been deleting your texts, Ali. I don't think Ned's even fully aware of it. He's in a very bad way, very bad indeed. He refused counselling and he's not taking his meds the way he should be. Nobody can get through to him."

Ali finds himself speechless, tears prickling in his eyes.

"Please" Arnold begs. "He needs you more than anything now. He's shutting down and I fear... I fear that he might try to kill himself."

God, no, Ali thinks, not my princess, not my beautiful, vibrant princess.

"Does your mum know about this?" He asks after a long, heavy silence.

"Yes." Arnold replies. "She thinks Ned should work harder and pray more. She only agreed to this because I said I'd take responsibility for you."

"That's ridiculous." Ali groans. "But I'm not sure how I could possibly..."

"That's enough." Feisal interrupts. "You're going and I'm personally putting you on a plane. No excuses. I'm also putting you on indefinite paid leave so take all the time you need."

"I don't think you can do that." Arnold interjects.

"I'm a prince." Feisal tells him. "I can do pretty much anything."

Arnold splutters for a minute, babbling out a thousand your highnesses, combined with profuse apologies for his mother's attitude and even more profuse thank yous. Feisal just rolls his eyes and brushes it all off. Ali wants to laugh, under any other circumstances he would have but all the news he's just heard is churning in his mind and in his gut.   
He's not heard from Lawrence because his stupid older brother has been deleting his messages. What kind of brother does something like that?! What else could they possibly be doing to make him shut down, to make him suicidal?! What sort of family is this anyway? Families should be loving, nurturing and supportive. Families should be about trust. Ali knows he can tell his parents anything and they will still accept him. How someone as close as a brother or mother can be so callous is beyond him.

Exactly one year after Daraa Ali finds himself about to board a plane to England. He's being seen off by his parents, Majid and Feisal who, being the heir to the throne, is attracting a lot of attention.

Ali is scared, not of flying but of what he might find in England. He's been speaking to Arnold regularly and so far what he's heard is not good. While Arnold is trying his best to make his brother comfortable Mrs Lawrence and Bob are neither helpful nor supportive. In fact they seem to be doing everything they can to undermine the healing process. What's even worse is they believe they are actually helping. Ali still remembers his army training on post-traumatic stress, he's also done some research of his own and he's got an idea of what he should and shouldn't do or say. It's minimal comfort.

"If anyone can save him it's you." Mum says as she hugs Ali. "Tell him we love him and that I'm still his foster mum."

"I will." Ali squeezes her briefly before turning to Majid and Feisal. "Thank you for everything."

"Stop it you." Majid smiles. "We're just bros being bros, aren't we, your highness?"

"We're the ultimate wingmen." Feisal winks at him. "Now off you go. I promised young Mr Lawrence I would get you on that plane and I am definitely keeping that promise."

So Ali says his goodbyes, gathers his luggage and heads for his gate.

 

Ali's been to London, Manchester and Cranwell. He's never been to Oxford before. He's googled it of course and liked what he's seen. He's even checked Lawrence's address on Google Earth. He can't decide whether the house at 2 Polstead road is adorable or creepy. Probably adorably creepy.

Arnold picks him up from Birmingham Airport. He looks stressed out but then it might just be Ali's tired eyes playing tricks on him.

"You'll be staying with us." Arnold tells him as he drives them to Oxford. "But then you already know that. There's a guest room, you can stay in there. Or with Ned in his bungalow if he's OK with that. Mother might not be too thrilled though. She's worried about fornication under her roof."

"Her son's been..." Ali can't bring himself to finish his sentence. "After what her son went through she's worried about him _fornicating_ under her roof?!"

"She's nuts. She used to go on and on about how sex is sinful and disgusting and how it should only happen between husband and wife and even then only under the blankets, in the dark and in the missionary position. When we were younger she'd beat us if we demonstrated the slightest interest in sex. Given that she had five of us and never married our dad..."

"She's quite the hypocrite."

"Yup."

"So..." Ali's dreading this but he has to ask. "How is Law... sorry, Ned?"

"He never asked you to call him that? Everybody calls him Ned."

"I've always called him princess."

"Suits him." Arnold laughs.

"Yeah. But how is he?"

"Terrible. He comes up to the house from his bungalow, sits in his chair in the front room and just... I don't know, zones out, stares into space. He becomes completely unresponsive. I mean, we were watching Shark Week a while back and this great white just lunges at the camera and he doesn't even flinch. He hardly eats, hardly sleeps. Bathes a lot more than he used to. He's not attending counselling, not taking his medication."

"And what's the deal with his phone?"

"Oh, that's just Bob saving Ned's immortal soul."

Ali's fists clench inside his pockets. He's seen men like Bob, self-righteous, trying to ram their beliefs down other people's throats. Men like Bob have made Ali's life hell on more than one occasion.

"Bob's a dickhead." Arnold says. "After we got back home the doctor gave Ned some reading material to help his recovery, self-help guide for survivors, dealing with PTSD, you know the sort."

Ali nods. He knows the sort.

"Guess what Bob did. Binned them. I managed to salvage the self-help guide. It's in my rucksack if you want to have a look at it. Just don't read it if you get travel sickness. I have to share this car with Bob and Ned. Puke in it and I'll never hear the end of it."

"I don't get travel sickness." Ali twists around to haul Arnold's rucksack into the passenger seat. After a minute of digging through books, empty crisp packets and old receipts he finds the booklet. It's stained with tea and what Ali can only hope is tomato peel but otherwise undamaged. He reads through it, making mental notes, adding to the research he'd done earlier. Having all that knowledge is comforting in a way.

In Google Earth number 2 Polstead Road may have looked adorably creepy. In real life it looks a little past its prime. Not an eyesore, far from that, just a little bit battered and in need of some love as a real estate agent might say. On the inside however it is very well looked after and clean to the point of sterility. Everything is in order, everything has its place, shoes are lined up by the wall in the hall, coats and keys hang neatly on their respective hooks.  
Mrs Lawrence is less than thrilled to see Ali and makes sure he knows it. She greets him with the bare minimum of politeness and immediately informs him that she will have no sinful behaviour under her roof. Ali just nods, he knows better than to argue. She then tells him that he is expected to participate in chores if he wants to stay in the house and Ali agrees to that, it's not unreasonable. He doesn't complain when Mrs Lawrence refuses to give him a key. Fair enough, she barely knows him and obviously still blames him for what happened to her son.

And then Arnold's ushering him into the front room and Ali's terrified, more than he's ever been in his entire life. 

There's two armchairs in the front room, their backs to the door. There's also a large sofa, a coffee table, some bookshelves and a TV, placed too close to the window, blaring some nonsense about 5 year old beauty queens. Arnold groans loudly, grabs the remote and starts channel-hopping. "You weren't actually watching this crap, were you?"

At that very moment Ali notices the top of a very familiar blonde head just visible above the back of one of the armchairs. He heads straight for that chair, circling it. The sight throws him, quite literally, to his knees. Nothing could possibly have prepared him for this.

Lawrence is sitting in the armchair, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes fixed on the window, most definitely not watching TV. He's very thin, his cheeks sunken, the bones in his wrists a lot more prominent than they used to be. There are dark rings under his eyes, sharply contrasting with his pale skin. He's still beautiful, he'll never be anything less than beautiful to Ali, but it's the eerie beauty of dead things and marble statues. 

"Princess." Ali says softly. "Princess, it's me."

Lawrence doesn't move or make any indication that he's noticed Ali's presence.

"Princess." Ali repeats, this time a little louder. Arnold switches the TV off.

"Ned." He touches Lawrence's shoulder. The man flinches, shaking himself out of his trance-like state. His eyes dart around, disoriented and frightened before focusing on Ali, widening in shock.

"Ali?" Lawrence whispers.

"Yes, princess. It's me."

"That's impossible. It can't be. Ali doesn't care about me. He wouldn't travel across half the globe for me. Nobody would." Lawrence's voice is hollow. He's lost most of the accent he'd picked up from Ali, he sounds like a foreigner once more.

"I would do anything for you." Ali bites back tears. "I'm here, really here, I travelled all this way to be with you and I know you're not comfortable with touching but if you feel up to it then go ahead and touch me, I assure you I won't disappear."

Lawrence reaches out as if to stroke Ali's cheek but quickly withdraws. "You really are here."

"I am."

Lawrence rises to his feet and heads for the door. There's a lack of steadiness in his movements, a slight wobble in his step. Ali follows him outside and into the backyard. There's a small bungalow there, Victorian in style, painted white and black.

"Can I come in?" Ali asks. Lawrence nods and holds the door for him. There's no hallway, they walk straight into what's meant to be a living room. The walls are lined with tightly packed bookshelves, there's no chairs, just a fluffy white carpet and two large red beanbags. 

"Bathroom, loo and bedroom are over there." Lawrence points towards a doorway. "Will you be staying here or in the house? Or..."

"Do you want me to stay here with you or would you rather I stayed over there?" Ali gestures towards the house. "It's your decision. I just want you to be comfortable."

"You're welcome to stay here." Lawrence sinks onto one of the beanbags.

"Thank you."

"Why didn't you come to say goodbye? Why did you cut all contact with me?"

"I didn't." Ali says, trying not to look or sound hurt. "I texted you many times."

"I never received any of your messages."

"That's because your brother's been deleting them."

"Arnold?! He would never..."

"Not Arnold. Bob."

Lawrence pulls out his phone and they spend the next couple of minutes comparing, checking which messages came through and which ones got deleted. It turns out Bob has done a very thorough job of erasing Ali from his brother's life. Not only has he been deleting messages, he's also deleted Ali's phone number.

"I can't believe it. My own brother... I didn't even notice." Lawrence looks horrified. "Am I losing my mind, Ali?"

"No, princess."

"What are you doing here anyway?"

Ali wants to tell Lawrence everything he's heard from Arnold, he wants to tell him he's here to help, to look after him but that sounds an awful lot like pity and he's sure pity is the last thing his princess wants. Instead he says: "I'm here to be with you."

"Why would you want to be with someone like me?!" Lawrence snorts, then staggers to his feet and heads off to run himself a bath, leaving Ali stunned and speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a rough timeline, just to make things clear: according to Seven Pillars of Wisdom the Deraa assault happened in November or December, Lawrence purposefully omits the exact date (it's pretty much the only time he is not specific about his timeline), for the purpose of this story I'm assuming the assault happened in November. Independence Day in Jordan is May 25th.  
> The self-help guide was inspired by this document: https://www.kch.nhs.uk/Doc/pl%20-%20819.2%20-%20a%20self-help%20guide%20for%20survivors%20of%20rape%20and%20sexual%20assault.pdf   
> I've been to Oxford but never to 2 Polstead road (which was Lawrence's parents' real address) and descriptions are based on photos I found on the internet so if they're not 100% accurate then I apologize. BTW 2 Polstead road is currently for sale so if you have £3000000 to spare then go for it, it needs some loving!


	9. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the rape is discussed in this chapter. Also, there are difficult conversations about Lawrence and Ali's relationship and Lawrence's mental state. And, surprise surprise, Mrs Lawrence is unhelpful.

The soft rustle of fabric and creaking of bed-springs wakes Ali at an unholy hour. For a split second he's unsure of his surroundings, then, as he reaches for his phone, he realises that he's on a mattress on the floor of the bedroom in Lawrence's bungalow. A graceful and long tartan-clad leg swings over Ali, soon followed by another. Bare feet pad softly towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Ali asks, slightly groggy.

"Out." Lawrence says. "Go back to sleep."

"No way. I'm going with you." Ali scrambles to his feet, now wide awake. It's 3:30 AM (he's checked), it's still dark and there's no way he's letting Lawrence wander the streets on his own. He dresses in record time.

They walk aimlessly for what feels like ages, completely silent. Oxford is beautiful with its old houses and greenery, even in the glare of street lamps. The photos on the internet do not do it justice.   
They take a turn, then another turn and now they're walking alongside a massive stone wall. Ali half-expects to find a castle somewhere close to that wall and is a little disappointed when no such thing happens. They do find a crossing, deserted and illuminated by both lamps and a red light. Lawrence ignores that light and jaywalks without as much as a glance at the road. The buildings here are lot bigger and older-looking than the ones on Polstead road. Ali pauses to take some pictures for his parents.

"Magdalen college is that way." Lawrence says suddenly, pointing somewhere over Ali's shoulder. "I used to have a demyship there. It's a type of scholarship. It was part of my funding for Carchemish. That's Trinity college and Balliol college. Here's the Bodleian Library and if you take that left turn over there you'll find Jesus college. That's where I studied."

They walk past the library, past the colleges, turning left at another crossing. This must be the town centre, there's plenty of shops, now shut, waiting for morning to come, a few fast food joints, some pubs. McDonald's is still open, though deserted, except for a group of loud youngsters and a tired-looking cashier. Lawrence strides inside and goes straight for the self-checkout. His fingers tap nimbly at the screen as he makes his choice (caramel iced coffee) and pays.

"Have you eaten today?" Ali asks.

"I don't know." Lawrence takes his receipt and walks away.

"That means no." Ali mutters and orders nuggets, purposefully selecting the sharing box.

Lawrence looks very uncomfortable and as soon as his order is served he darts outside. Ali almost abandons his own order to follow him. "Don't do that. Don't just walk away from me like that."

"I'm sorry." Lawrence practically wilts. "I'm bloody worthless."

"Don't say that. You're not worthless. You're brilliant." Ali tells him. "Here, have a nugget."

"No, thanks." 

"You need to eat." Ali waves the nugget in front of the other man's face. "Don't make me do airplane sounds."

To Ali's amazement Lawrence leans forward and bites into the meat, pulling it out of his hand. So they find a bench and Ali feeds him another nugget. And another. And three more.

"Why did you come?" Lawrence asks between bites.

"I told you. Because I want to be with you."

"But why? Why would you want someone as... as damaged... as unclean as me? Why would you want a whore?"

"A whore?! You're not a whore! Who said so? Bob? I swear..."

"Not Bob." Lawrence shakes his head. " _He_ did."

"Who...? Oh. Oh God." The realisation hits Ali so hard it knocks the air out of him. That man in Daraa, the Bey, not only had he forced himself upon Lawrence, he'd tortured him psychologically.

"Look at me, princess." Ali puts down the half-empty nugget box and turns so that he can face Lawrence. "You are not a whore. What that son of a bitch told you is not true. What happened in Daraa does not make you a whore. It does not make you unclean. I am sorry that it happened and I am so so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you."

"It's not your fault, Ali. You couldn't have known. I brought this upon me, I'm the one to blame."

"Princess, you are not to blame. That man had no right to do what he did."

"I think we should go home." Lawrence rises and heads towards the traffic lights. Once again, he jaywalks without as much as a glance at the road. They're taking a different route back, past a church with a creepy overgrown graveyard, a tall gothic monument, a building Ali knows is the Ashmolean Museum. He's starting to feel tired, all he wants is to get back to the bungalow and go to sleep.

"He offered me a discount." Lawrence says, his tone incongruously conversational. "Half price for the statues and reliefs as long as I was nice to him. I played dumb, pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. He sits closer to me, pours me coffee. I'm sure we can reach an agreement, he says. I hope so, I tell him. He's really close now, he's got his hand on my knee. You have lovely blue eyes, he says. He tries to kiss me, I pull away. He tries again. I hit him, he gets angry, hits me back, so hard I fall to the floor. He's got his boot on my face, I know your name is not Ross, he says to me, I know who you are and you'd better be nice to me if you want to live. He starts pulling at my clothes, tearing them. I fight, scratch him quite bad. He's really angry now, he pushes me onto my stomach, he's on me, he's... he's in me and he's holding me by my hair and... and..." Lawrence stutters. Ali is horrified, his exhaustion forgotten.

"I'm so sorry, princess." He doesn't want to hear this, it's almost too much to bear. But Lawrence bore this, survived it and if he wants to talk about it then Ali sure as hell is going to listen.

"When he was done with me he gave me to his men, said they could do whatever they wanted with me. They had a whip... They... they took turns... They all had me... Then he came back... He said I was nothing more than an English whore. I think I fainted at that point because the next thing I remember is you screaming at Auda."

"You're so brave, so strong. You survived and you have the strength and courage to speak about it. You are not a whore, they have not broken you."

"Yet when you look at me I see pity in your eyes. You look at me like I am broken."

"No, princess. I look at you with love. What those men did to you does not change the way I feel about you."

"And what is it that you feel?"

"I love you. I would do anything to make you happy, to protect you. If I could go back in time..."

"But you can't." Lawrence interrupts him. "It happened and there's no going back to who we were before that."

"Maybe not but we can still rebuild."

"How, Ali? How? I'm broken, I'm gone! I'm not my own man anymore, I'm not the master of my own body! I feel wrong, everything feels wrong, the whole bloody world feels wrong!" There's a hint of panic in Lawrence's voice, a pained edge Ali has never heard before. "Every bloody day hurts and I don't know how much longer I can handle it."

"I'm sorry." Ali says for the hundredth time since his arrival. "I'm so sorry. You're not alone, I'm here for you."

"I just want to go home." Lawrence whispers weakly. He looks exhausted and fragile.

They walk home in silence, each digesting the other's words. They've been out for so long it's pointless going back to bed so they don't. Instead they sit in the red beanbags in the front room. Lawrence tries to read but appears to be struggling to concentrate, his gaze wandering towards the window. He doesn't seem distressed so Ali decides not to interfere and busies himself with his phone. He texts his parents and Majid, giving them a quick summary of the events of the day. He's still floored by what Lawrence told him earlier and he could do with some advice. It's one thing reading or listening to a lecture on trauma. Being confronted face to face with it is completely different.

 

At 7 Arnold calls them into the house for breakfast. Lawrence refuses to eat but, after much coaxing from Ali, has a cup of warm cocoa. Mrs Lawrence tuts disapprovingly, calling the cocoa an unnecessary indulgence. Ali tells her firmly but politely that he knows what he's doing and silently begs whatever deity is currently listening to grant him the ability to kill with a single look. Mrs Lawrence just ignores him and starts babbling about someone called doctor March who is apparently going on maternity leave at the end of something called Michaelmas which would mean a vacancy at the university. It's an obvious hint: get a job. Which means: pull yourself together. Heal faster.

"Think about it. But don't do it if you feel that you're not ready." Ali says.

"I think a proper job will do Ned good. If he's working he won't have time to mope." Mrs Lawrence gives him a disdainful look. 

"He's not moping. He's trying to process what happened to him and regain control. What he needs is support and time."

"He had a year. That's more than enough time."

"It's not that simple. Physical recovery is one thing, mental recovery works differently..."

"The doctor said he was fine at his last check up."

"Please." Lawrence speaks so suddenly he startles both Ali and his mother. "Please stop talking about me like I'm not here."

He's rigid in his chair but his hands and bottom lip are trembling. Ali wants so badly to hold him, to protect him, to hold those elegant, long-fingered hands until the trembling subsides.

"You should be harder on yourself, Ned." Mrs Lawrence punctuates every word with a tap on the table. "You have to set yourself a higher standard. The Lord does not want you to waste your time and talents sitting in a chair all day long. And neither do I."

"I'll have a look at the application form." Lawrence nods meekly and heads off towards the front room. When Ali joins him a couple of minutes later he's curled up in his armchair, gazing at the window with unfocused eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the rape is closer to Seven Pillars than to the movie. Writing it was not easy...  
> I've been to Oxford but never to Polstead road and I've not done the walk Lawrence and Ali do so if it's not entirely accurate I do apologize!  
> The academic year at Oxford University is divided into three terms, Michaelmas being the first one, which ends in December.


	10. December

"No... no... please... no."

Ali sits up, rubs his eyes and turns on the lamp on Lawrence's bedside table. Carefully, he pulls himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, close enough to be able to react swiftly but far enough to not be intimidating.  
They've not had a single night of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Lawrence's nightmares are absolute hell, repeating themselves over and over, reducing him to a trembling, tearful mess, too frightened to go back to sleep. Ali stays up with him, keeping watch, making sure he's alright. Usually they move onto the beanbags where they read or watch something on Netflix until they can't stay awake any longer.

"Princess." Ali touches Lawrence's hand ever so lightly. The Englishman still doesn't like being touched and avoids it at all costs. Although it breaks Ali's heart, he accepts it. That's the advice his mum'd given him, that's the best he can do: be patient and accepting. It's not easy but there's nothing Ali wouldn't do for Lawrence. 

"Princess." Ali repeats a little louder, a little more firmly. Lawrence bolts upright, panicked, gasping for breath, eyes rapidly filling with tears.

"Ali!" He sobs.

"I'm here, princess. You're safe. I'm here to protect you."

Lawrence nods but then curls up, legs drawn to his chest, face buried in his knees and cries for a long minute. It's heartwrenching to see him in so much pain. Ali waits patiently for the sobbing to subside before offering to run him a bath, his first bath of the day given that it's almost dawn.  
As he runs the bath Ali studies Lawrence's immense collection of bathbombs. Some look very plain, others are shaped like palm trees and fruit, there's even a few shaped like Lucky Cats. Ali doesn't care for the quirky shapes, he's more interested in scent. Most of Lawrence's bathbombs smell sweet and citrusy but that's not what he needs right now. He needs something soothing, something that will relax and soften him.  
The Lucky Cats smell like lavender so Ali settles for one of those. Lavender's nice and calming, he thinks as he watches the cat dissolve, dyeing the water purple.

"That's nice." Lawrence slips into the bathroom. There's barely enough room for the two of them and Ali finds himself pressed up against the wall. He can feel the heat of Lawrence's body as the other man passes him.

"I'll leave you to it." Ali detaches himself from the wall and turns to leave.

"Wait!" There's a look of fierce determination on Lawrence's face. He takes a long stride forward and all of a sudden he's right in front of Ali, it's the closest they've been physically in over a year and now Lawrence's lips are on his, so soft, so warm... As suddenly as it had started the kiss is over and Lawrence withdraws. "I'm..."

"It's alright. Now get in the bath. It'll make you feel better." Ali retreats. His mind is racing, his body is seconds away from committing the ultimate betrayal. He stretches on the floor, feet hooked beneath the bed and starts doing sit-ups.

"I miss you." Lawrence says from the bathtub. He must have left the bathroom door open, his voice is very clear. 

"I miss you too, princess." Ali tells him as he lies back down on the floor.

"I want to touch you, you know. But... but it's like... I'm scared that if I do I will somehow contaminate you, that I will soil us both. I'm... My body just doesn't feel right. It's very frustrating and upsetting. I mean, it's been a year, more than a year actually, and I should be better by now, shouldn't I?"

"Princess, what you went through is enough to kill a man. Yet you survived and every day that you carry on is a massive fuck you to those monsters. There is no set time for recovery. Everybody's different. Some people only need a year or two, others need three, four, five. There's no shame in needing more time to heal."

"I just want things to be the way they used to be. For me, my work, for us too. I want to feel like me again."

"I know, princess, and I will help and support you every step of the way."

"My gallant knight." 

Judging by the splash that follows Lawrence must have slid underwater. Ali texts his parents:  
 _Go ahead and rent out my flat. I'll be staying in England for a while._

 

There's an official-looking envelope waiting on the dining room table. It has Lawrence's name on it along with Oxford University's coat of arms and Ali is pretty sure he knows what it is - they've given him the teaching job. Mrs Lawrence must have the same idea. She hovers like an imposing, gloomy hummingbird until the letter is opened, then proceeds to read it out loud over her son's shoulder. "Dear Doctor Lawrence, it is my pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted... Oh Ned! I'm so proud of you! My son, a lecturer! And at Oxford University! I am so very proud of you, so proud indeed!"

"He got the job?" Bob saunters in.

"He did!" Mrs Lawrence squeals. The sound is disturbing.

"Congratulations, Ned." Bob claps his hands down onto his brother's shoulders. "You're a productive citizen once more."

"Funny you should say that given that you're unemployed." The words come out before Ali can stop himself.

"You're not exactly working a nine to five job either."

"Maybe not but I'm looking after your brother, a job you failed at."

"You're not looking after him, you're coddling him." Bob hits his preacher tone. "Ned doesn't need coddling, he needs to man up."

"Ned is already ten times the man you will ever be." Ali retorts. "All you do is belittle him. Does it make you feel better? Does it make you feel more manly?"

"How dare you?!" Bob makes a move in Ali's direction, as if about to hit him but Mrs Lawrence grabs his wrist and pulls him away.

"Don't spoil it, Robert, it's not worth it." She says firmly. "Don't let him provoke you."

"Alright, mother." Bob gives Ali one last filthy look before he storms out of the dining room.

"I do not appreciate the way you spoke to my son." Mrs Lawrence turns to Ali, her voice cold and stern. "If something like this happens again I will ask you to leave. Bob has a point, you know. Ned needs firm guidance and..."

"Mother, can you please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Lawrence interjects. "I'm going out today. I need new clothes for that job. Nothing fits me anymore."

 

For all the praise and gushing he's heard, Ali finds Primark rather underwhelming. It's too hot and crowded. The racks are too close to one another and the aisles are too tight. Ali's concerned for Lawrence, worried that the proximity of strangers and lack of oxygen might trigger a flashback. The Englishman looks very uncomfortable, his shoulders visibly tense, eyes darting about. He grabs a few seemingly random items and heads for the changing room. "I need to figure out what size I am now."

Ali prepares himself for a long wait but it only takes Lawrence a couple of minutes to go through the clothes he'd selected and they're back to browsing the racks. Although, browsing might be an overstatement. Lawrence moves like a man on a mission: basics, shirts, trousers, cardigans, jackets. He's making safe choices, Ali notices. Everything is simple, classic, conservative even. The colours are safe too: black, white, grey and blue, ranging from the lightest shades to navy. Ali thinks he understands why. The colours and styles are a shield, a suit of armour, something very close to an invisibility cloak. They're not there to highlight Lawrence's beauty, they're there to cover and protect him.   
They're heading for the tills when Lawrence suddenly stops and takes a sharp turn into the suit section. There's a mannequin there, dressed in a three-piece blue suit. It's a very deep blue, not navy but close. 

"That is the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen on an item of clothing." Lawrence murmurs, fascinated.

"Do you like it?" 

"I do but I don't think I can pull it off. I'm..."

"Beautiful." Ali interrupts. "You are beautiful and you deserve nice things. If you like that suit then I think you should have it."

Lawrence studies the suit like it's a work of art. "Where would I wear it?"

"I don't know, finals? Graduations? Maybe a date? With me?" Ali suggests, choosing his words carefully and deliberately.

"Are you asking me out, colonel?" Lawrence instantly rises to the bait, a faint ghost of that old sparkle shimmering in his eyes. It's the loveliest thing Ali has seen in months.

"Yes, doctor, I am."

"I'm not opposed to the idea." Lawrence smiles coyly. It's delightful and sweet and so close to the way things were between them before Daraa. Until they leave the shop.  
A man walks past them, completely unremarkable, dressed in a plain black coat, talking softly on his phone. He is gone in seconds. What lingers is his scent. Overpowering, suffocating, heavy, like he's doused himself with an entire bottle of cheap cologne.

"Oh God." Lawrence gasps. "No. No, no, nononono..." 

He's hyperventilating, slurring pleas and nos and ohgods, eyes darting madly about. 

"Princess." Ali speaks to him firmly but lovingly. "Listen to my voice, princess. I'm here, you're safe, no one can harm you. Listen to my voice, breathe. In, hold it, hold it, out, in, hold it, hold it, out."

Lawrence grasps at the lapels of Ali's coat, trying to steady himself, he's trembling all over but at least his breathing is slowing down. Ali takes a risk and lightly rubs Lawrence's shoulder. "That's right, you're doing so well. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out, just like that."

What happens next shocks Ali so deeply he almost cries - Lawrence melts into him, burying his face in the crook of Ali's neck, nuzzling him, breath ghosting over his skin, sending the slightest tingle of excitement down his spine. It is thrilling to be so close physically once again, almost too much so. A quickly summoned memory of Auda and his idiotic fedora is enough to banish the excitement and, yes, arousal (Ali knows all too well his neck is his weak spot).

"I'm so sorry." Lawrence murmurs into Ali's neck.

"Oh princess. It's not your fault, there is nothing to apologize for. You're safe and I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you ever again. I'm going to protect you, I'm going to breathe with you and hold you, I promise, I will do whatever it takes to help you heal."

Lawrence slowly withdraws and straightens out his coat. "Can we go home please? I can feel a headache building."

"Sure." Ali smiles softly. "Let's get you some rest."

 

"I hate Christmas." Lawrence mutters darkly. "Pretending to be a happy, perfect family. It's ridiculous."

"Yeah." Arnold nods. "Cigarette?"

"Sure."

"Ali?"

"Please." Ali takes the proffered cigarette and lighter.

They're sitting on a bench by the bus stop, wrapped up in their coats, huddling together for the sake of both warmth and space. So far Christmas has been a nightmarish combination of Mrs Lawrence's micromanaging, brotherly fights about chores and a heated argument between Bob and Arnold regarding Arnold's atheism.

"It's so fake." Lawrence coughs on smoke. He's clumsy with the lighter but surprisingly graceful with the cigarette itself. "It makes me sick."

"When I have my own place I'm not gonna do Christmas." Arnold declares. "I'm gonna order Chinese and binge-watch Supernatural.

"And the Doctor Who special. The only thing that makes Christmas bearable." Lawrence adds.

"And Doctor Who. But otherwise I am NOT acknowledging Christmas whatsoever."

"Yeah, I'm not going to bother with Christmas either. Just watch Doctor Who and eat the least Christmas-y food I can get my hands on. What do you think, Ali?"

"Sounds like a plan to me." Ali moves to rest his hand on Lawrence's knee but stills himself. "May I?"

Lawrence just smiles and twines his fingers with Ali's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Here's a bit of "one step forward, two steps back". There is hope for Dr Lawrence!  
> I apologise if the description of the flashback is not entirely accurate.  
> Regarding Christmas there is evidence that Lawrence did not like Christmas. There are letters in which he refers to it as a time of forced, fake happiness and others in which he says he swapped duties with his friends in the RAF in order to avoid having to participate in any celebrations.  
> Regarding the cigarette: apparently Lawrence had this habit of smoking only on Christmas and Easter as an exercise in willpower. Although there is an episode in his book "The Mint" which suggests he had a brief period of regular smoking.


	11. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day on the job, sneaking into a class one is not enrolled in and the ups and downs of recovery.

It's the first day of the new term. Lawrence seems calm although he does check his hair and outfit more than is necessary. He's got a new haircut, a fashionable style with shaved sides. It's a bit more modern than his previous style and suits him brilliantly.

Ali's been thinking a lot about the hug they'd shared outside Primark, that chaste kiss in the bathroom, the way they'd held hands on that bench on Christmas Day. He hopes it's a step towards recovery. Lawrence does not deserve any more suffering. He deserves happiness and pleasure. And _God_ , does Ali want to give him all that.

"Nervous?" Ali asks as they walk to town.

"No, I've done this before." Lawrence gives him an amused look. "Anyway, it's only four hours a week with two groups of twenty. Nothing I can't handle. I've got my lessons planned out, I've prepared the syllabus, I'm good."

But the closer they get to the university the quieter Lawrence becomes. By the time they've reached Magdalen College he's completely silent, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

"I don't think I can do it, Ali." He whispers.

"Princess, you've come this far. You filled out the application, went to the interview, submitted the paperwork, you even got yourself new clothes and a new haircut just for the job. You got out of bed in the morning and you got dressed. You've come this far and I'm so proud of you."

"Because I got out of bed?" Lawrence raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. Because you're doing things for yourself and that's good. Actually, I have an idea. Maybe I could come with you if you're feeling anxious?"

"You would come to my class?"

"Yes, as an unenrolled student."

Lawrence laughs. "Well, it's not like _I've_ never been to a class I wasn't enrolled in. Just walk like you own the place."  
Ali does exactly that. He draws himself up to his full height and follows Lawrence into the college building, across the courtyard and through a gothic doorway.

 

"Good afternoon, class. I am doctor Lawrence, I will be filling in for doctor March for the rest of the academic year." There's a change in Lawrence now that he's got an audience. Gone is the anxiety, the fearfulness and tension. He's leaning against his desk, perfectly at ease, exuding authority, self-confidence and sheer _power_. That deadly edge, which Ali had only seen once before, is back but it's not fuelled by anger. Ali can't quite place it. It is beautiful though and so, so close to the old Lawrence.

"The purpose of today's class is for me to lay down some ground rules and for us to get to know each other." Lawrence continues. "So, first of all, attendance. As you already know, my seminar is compulsory and I do take attendance. You will be required to sign a list every week. There will be consequences for poor attendance, as per the student handbook. To make things absolutely clear, I will not fail you because you were ill, had to have your appendix removed or went into labour. I will fail you if your work is not up to this university's standards. Speaking of coursework. I will require you to write essays and sit tests. These will impact your grade. Cheating is unacceptable and there will be consequences. Plagiarism is absolutely unacceptable. I don't do random checks, I check every single essay I receive. You will be required to read. I shall provide the complete syllabus shortly. I expect you to read the full, unabridged text. Not fragments, not summaries. The full text unless stated otherwise. I am not asking you to read anything I myself haven't read. Now for a few practicalities. Please do not be late. Please do not eat or chew gum. All non-alcoholic beverages are welcome. And one last thing. I don't care who your parents are and how much money they've got. If your work is not up to scratch I will fail you and no amount of threats or begging will make me change my mind. Any questions regarding anything I've said so far?"

A murmured "no" rumbles through the classroom.

"Good." Lawrence hoists himself up to sit on his desk. "Now, according to doctor March you covered Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt last term. Is that correct?"

A few people mutter "yes".

"Perfect. I'm going to schedule two tests then. Mesopotamia next week, Egypt the week after, so make sure to revise your art, your architecture and your mythology."

There is a collective groan of exasperation. Ali rolls his eyes.

"My email address and phone number are written on the board." Lawrence gestures towards the old-fashioned blackboard behind him. "Please do not ring or text me after seven PM or on weekends unless it's a dire emergency. Now I'm going to hand out a list. Your names are already there, just sign and write down your phone numbers and email addresses. I'll set up a Whatsapp group and a Dropbox, to which I will upload the syllabus. I will not, however, be providing test questions. Is that clear?"

Another muttered "yes".

"Oh, for the love of God! Look alive, class! I'm not a monster!" Lawrence throws his hands in the air in mock despair. "Now that we've established the rules let's move on to other things. Are then any questions?"

A girl in the front row raises her hand. Lawrence nods at her.

"Doctor March said there was going to be a field trip. Is that still the case?" 

"Absolutely. I'm taking you lot to London later this term and maybe, if we have enough time next term, to an Ancient Roman site." 

A murmur of approval ripples through the room. Lawrence smiles radiantly. This is the happiest Ali has seen him in months and he can't help but smile too. That doesn't go unnoticed, the girl sitting next to Ali gives him a strange look as she hands him the list. He just cocks an eyebrow at her, he really doesn't care what she thinks.  
Of course Ali's name is not on the list so he adds it at the bottom and writes a short message in Arabic. It's nothing fancy or naughty, just a simple "you are so beautiful" but it's enough to make Lawrence blush when he notices it. The very sight is adorable.

 

The four consecutive hours of introductions and laying down ground rules have drained Lawrence so much that he sinks to floor, his back against the classroom door and just sits there limply. "I forgot how exhausting teaching could be."

"But you did brilliantly." Ali tells him. "You were amazing."

"You think so? I don't feel amazing."

"Trust me, you did great."

Lawrence smiles, a little tired smile. "Do you think you could help me up?"

"Sure." Ali scrambles to his feet and extends a hand. Lawrence grips it firmly and pulls himself up, probably a little too quickly because he staggers, as if about to collapse, and immediately Ali puts an arm around him, steadying him. Lawrence gasps but doesn't flinch or try to pull away. In fact, he leans closer, his nose rubbing against Ali's.

"Would you like me to kiss you?" Ali asks.

"Please..."

So Ali kisses him, very carefully and slowly. He doesn't want to upset Lawrence. He wants him to feel safe and happy. 

Long fingers curl into Ali's hair, gripping almost painfully, tugging, pulling him closer. Lawrence is desperate, demanding, all tongue, teeth and frustrated little moans.

"Princess." Ali pulls away, breaking the suddenly frantic kiss. "Hey, princess, slow down."

Lawrence stares at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "What?!"

"Slow down. Don't rush."

"But... I'm... I, I miss you, I want to..." He sounds hurt.

"I know." Ali strokes Lawrence's cheek soothingly. "But I don't want you to force yourself to do something you're not ready for."

Lawrence instantly stiffens and yanks himself out of Ali's embrace. "Don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. Don't tell me what I am or am not ready for."

He grabs his coat and storms off.  
Ali curses himself in three languages.

 

"Ali? Are you asleep?"

"No." Ali rubs the bridge of his nose. He's been staring at the ceiling for the past hour at least, wide awake.

"I'm sorry." Lawrence says softly. "For earlier. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I don't know what got into me."

"It's alright. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that. You know what you're ready for and how far you want to go."

"Why are you so kind to me?

"Because you're my princess and I love you."

"I love you too, Ali." Lawrence sighs with a mixture of contentment and relief. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, princess."

For what must be the first time in over a year Lawrence sleeps through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably isn't exactly how things are done at Oxford University so please forgive me for the inaccuracies.   
> Doctor Lawrence's epic start of term speech was inspired by the speech one of my uni professors used to do at the start of term. Also, Doctor Lawrence's new haircut is loosely inspired by T.E. Lawrence's haircut: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f1/c5/01/f1c50143453516577f2ea987fd1d64fa.jpg


	12. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big, potentially life-altering conversations are had.   
> Government officials come bearing colonialism and imperialism.  
> Ali gets a tenant. I wonder who she might be...  
> Also, Doctor Lawrence examines his scars and one thing leads to another...

Brits, in Ali's opinion, are insane. Or at least their supermarkets are. The left side of the seasonal aisle is dedicated to Valentine's day. The right side is full of heavily discounted chocolate Santas and Christmas decorations. Consumerism at its finest, Ali thinks. Who needs a set of His and Hers wine glasses?! Pink cutlery made of plastic?!  
The Valentine's day cards are just as bad. They're either tooth-rottingly sweet or ridiculously crude and dirty. There's even a card from the cat! Who needs that?!  
Ali takes another slow walk around the supermarket, then heads off, empty-handed, towards the health centre. It's Lawrence's first counselling appointment today. It was a big decision and while Ali is proud of him for having made it he's also a bit anxious. In therapy Lawrence will have to confront things he only faces in his nightmares and that is bound to be extremely painful.

 

For some strange reason there's no mobile reception in the waiting room, so when his phone starts ringing, Ali has to go outside to answer. 

"Mum! How's things? How's Dad?"

"We're great! We managed to rent your flat out." Ali can hear his mum smiling.

"Good. Who's the tenant?"

"Young, single woman. Doesn't cover. Works in IT. She's look after the flat. But enough of that now. How's my foster son?"

"Wow, mum. You've not even asked me how I am." Ali teases.

"I know you're okay, I raised you. Now don't keep me hanging. How is he?"

"We'll see in about... five minutes."

"He's making good progress, isn't he? I mean, he's got a job, he's started therapy, he's getting more comfortable with displays of affection..."

"About that." Ali interrupts her. "I worry that he's pushing himself too much with the... affection."

"Oh Ali. You've got to trust him, he knows how much he can handle." Mum sounds exasperated.

"I do trust him but..."

"No buts. I've said it once, I'll say it a thousand times. Follow. His. Lead."

"I know, mum, I know. I just feel so powerless. I wish I could make his pain go away."

"But you can't, sorry to be blunt but you can't. All you can do is support him, love him and make sure he feels safe. Speaking of which..."

"Oh God..." Ali groans. "I think I know where this is going."

"You know that you two can legally get married in the UK?"

"Jeez, mum!" Ali almost drops his phone in shock. "A little warning please!"

"What?! It's just an option."

"Yeah but this type of thing takes two, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does but think about it. Marriage means stability, security, _normality_. And from what you've told me and what I've read all he wants is to feel normal again."

"Stop right there, mum." Ali glances at the health centre door. As if on cue it opens and Lawrence steps outside, doing up his coat. "Look, I've got to go."

"Think about what I said."

"Okay, okay, I'll think about it. Love you, mum."

"Everything alright?" Lawrence asks. His eyes are reddened and puffy, he's obviously been crying.

"Yeah, everything's good. Would you like a hug?" Ali opens his arms.

"Yes." Lawrence steps closer, pressing himself against Ali, melting into the embrace. "I'm due back next week."

"Good. I'm so proud of you."

"Why? Because I went to counselling? Next thing I know, you'll be giving me participation awards for breathing."

"I will if that's what it takes to make you feel better." Ali chuckles.

"You're incorrigible, you know?"

"Isn't that why you love me?"

"Come on." Lawrence blushes. "Tests aren't going to grade themselves."

 

_FabulousTulipMan: How's my best friend?_

_sherif_ali: Not bad, getting more sleep now._

_FabulousTulipMan: Sweet. How's the princess?_

_sherif_ali: Better, I think. He started therapy, he's sleeping better, eating more, bathing less._

_FabulousTulipMan: Since when is bathing less a good thing?_

_sherif_ali: Since he's gone from bathing 5 times a day to bathing once in the morning and once in the evening, DUMBASS_

_FabulousTulipMan: Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I get what u mean. How's things between the two of u?_

Ali rolls his eyes and quickly types: _none of your fucking business_.

Lawrence, wrapped in a blanket on the neighbouring beanbag, snorts. "There is no Alladin in the Sumerian Pantheon."

Ali smiles but says nothing, just turns back to his phone. It's best not to bother Lawrence while he's working.

_FabulousTulipMan: Hey, I'm sorry, didn't mean to be nosey._

_sherif_ali: No, I'm sorry for snapping. We're ok._

_FabulousTulipMan: Still sleeping separately?_

_sherif_ali: Yes._

_FabulousTulipMan: U gonna get there, I'm sure._

"Holy hell..." Lawrence mutters. "U-R. Ur. Not U-R-R. And the Ishtar Gate is not what makes Ur special. It's not even in the bloody region anymore, it's in Berlin..."

Idiots, Ali thinks, even Oxford has its fair share. His phone vibrates against the fabric of the beanbag. He unlocks it and reads the message. Almost gags on his own spit.

_FabulousTulipMan: So I've been told same sex marriage is legal in the UK._

_sherif_ali: Did my mum put you up to this?_

_FabulousTulipMan: u fuckin kidding me?! NO_

_sherif_ali: I swear, if my mum put you up to this I will rip you a new arsehole._

_FabulousTulipMan: CHILLAX, I just thought it was something u would want._

_sherif_ali: Yes but in Jordan._

_FabulousTulipMan: U could always marry him in the UK and then bring him back to Jordan. I thought he liked it here._

_sherif_ali: He does but I'm not going to push him. IF we do get engaged you'll be the first to hear about it, ok? I might even make you my best man._

_FabulousTulipMan: Works for me ;)_

"Ali?" Lawrence looks up from his grading.

"Yes, princess?"

"Could you hold my hand please? The amount of stupidity and plain-arse laziness is killing me."

"Of course." Ali drags his beanbag closer to Lawrence's, then takes the waiting hand in his own. Lawrence sighs contentedly and returns to grading.

 

There's two men waiting outside Lawrence's classroom. They're definitely not students and, as far as Ali can tell, not staff either. They're both dressed in suits that look like they cost more than what some of the faculty earn in a month. One is dark-haired, with a well-groomed moustache, the other grey-haired and clean-shaven.

"Doctor Lawrence!" The dark-haired man booms. "Just the man I was looking for!"

"Lord Allenby, what a surprise. How can I assist the Home Office today?" Lawrence smiles politely. His shoulders rise a fraction of an inch. He's tensing up. Ali takes a discreet step backwards and sideways, just close enough for Lawrence to feel his presence.

"You surely remember Mr Dryden from the Department for Digital, Culture, Media & Sport?" Allenby gestures towards his companion.

"How could I forget? Mr Dryden virtually put me on that plane to Jordan."

"About that." The man called Dryden speaks. "It is imperative that you rejoin the project immediately."

"But that is not possible. My contract does not expire till the end of the academic year."

"Contracts can be revoked, doctor. It was recently brought to my attention that a number of artefacts have resurfaced. Artefacts which were loaned out by us to museums in Syria and Iraq. Invaluable items, believe me. Is there somewhere, um, private where we could talk?" Dryden looks at Ali with barely concealed disdain.

"Mr Dryden" Lawrence must have noticed that if the sudden coolness in his voice is anything to go by. "I am not comfortable discussing this without my partner present. He was part of the project with me, I can't see why he shouldn't be part of this conversation."

"Let's get to the point." Allenby interjects, thrusting a piece of paper at Lawrence. "Here's a list of artefacts we're interested in. It's imperative that they return to England."

Lawrence glances at the paper, then hands it over to Ali. "And you expect me to secure the safe return of these artefacts?"

"Yes, we do."

"No."

"I beg your pardon?!" Dryden squawks like an indignant owl.

"No. Those artefacts were stolen long before they went missing. And who stole them in the first place? Our glorious empire, Mr Dryden! Were you aware of that?"

"Mr Lawrence, I fail to see..."

"How that is relevant? Those items are not ours to keep. They should return to Egypt, Greece, Syria, Iraq, the places they came from. And it's Doctor Lawrence."

"The items in question were legally acquired by the British Museum and other institutions, _Doctor_."

"No, Mr Dryden, they were looted. And I will not be part of your imperialistic, colonialist agenda. Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a class to teach."

 

"Let me get this straight." Feisal sounds shaken over the louder speaker. "Some civil servants show up at your work and demand that..."

"That I bring back artefacts that my country stole from yours and others." Lawrence finishes his sentence for him. "My intention was to have them returned to their places of origin. It would seem that in this case my government had other plans."

Lawrence's voice is calm but his body isn't. He's tapping his foot and rubbing his wrist at the same time. Carefully, Ali places a hand on his back. 

"When does your contract expire?" Feisal asks.

"June." Lawrence replies.

"So you would be available in July?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Would you be willing to return?"

"Yes but..."

"No buts, doctor. I'm putting the project on hold until you become available."

"Oh... Alright." Lawrence smiles timidly. "Your highness, I am so sorry for this and for the manner of my departure..."

"Don't worry about it, given the circumstances it was perfectly understandable. I'll be happy to have you back though. We need more people like you. I'll be expecting both of you in July then." With that Feisal hangs up. Lawrence exhales slowly.

"So..." Ali says. "Looks like we're going back."

"It sure does. Would I still be welcome to stay at your place?"

"Do you really need to ask?!"

"Why, Ali?"

"Because I love you, that's why."

"Even after the way I left?"

"Princess, you could be a poisonous toad with bad breath and I would still love you."

Lawrence laughs so hard he falls off his beanbag.

 

The marketplace is a lot quieter than the souks in Jordan but just as colourful. Clothes, books, kitchen appliances, DVDs, anything and everything. There's a few foodtrucks serving the usual selection of burgers, burritos and chips. 

Ali's not interested in the foodtrucks. He's found an antique stall.

Which happens to carry rings.

Most of them are just vintage costume jewellery and typically feminine but Ali has managed to find a few suitable options.

The first ring is a simple golden band engraved with an intricate vine pattern. It's classy if a little plain.

The second one is a miniature city, literally. Tiny gates, walls, towers and buildings set on a thick band. A statement piece. Ali has seen pictures of similar rings in some of Lawrence's books. 

Option number three is a blue stone set into an openwork band. Lawrence has a picture of something very similar on his Instagram account.

Ali's a little surprised with himself. He's not planned a proposal or anything like that. He's not even given the question of marriage much thought. He is most definitely jumping the gun. But surely it won't hurt to have a ring just in case? And anyway if things don't work out then there's always Ebay.

Ali examines ring number two a little closer. It's quirky, funny and the craftsmanship is impeccable. But on the other hand there's a lot of tiny, sticking-out elements like towers, roofs and battlements that could get caught on things or potentially hurt someone while shaking hands. Given Lawrence's line and style of work it would definitely annoy him, he'd probably end up taking it off and losing it, which would then completely defeat the point of the ring in the first place. Ali briefly entertains the idea of purchasing the ring for the sole purpose of punching Bob in the face while wearing it (those little towers and battlements are bound to do some damage) but ends up putting it back in its little box.

He's left with two options now: the vine band and the blue stone. Ali weighs the rings in his hands, examines them, turning each one around over and over again. He really likes the stone, it's the kind of thing he himself would love to be proposed to with.   
Ali tries to picture Lawrence wearing the blue stone, finds that he can't. The ring, though lovely, just doesn't seem to _go_ with Lawrence and his personality. Ali puts it down and takes another look at the vine-engraved band. Upon closer examination it's not that plain. The leaves are incredibly detailed, as is the vine itself. The craftsmanship is just as good, if not better than that of the city ring. The design is practical, Lawrence could easily wear this to work without fear of damaging something.  
Decision made then. Ali pays for the vine ring, pockets it and heads off to the health centre to collect Lawrence.

 

"Ali? Can I ask you a favour?" Lawrence perches on the edge of Ali's mattress.

"Sure, anything for my princess."

"Can you take a photo of my back? I... I've never... I want to see my scars."

"Princess, are you sure about this?" Ali sits up. 

"My therapist thinks acknowledging the scars will help me with my body image."

Ali is not entirely convinced. What if seeing the scars only upsets Lawrence and causes him to retreat back into himself?

"OK." Ali says finally. "I'll take a photo of your back for you. You don't have to look at it straight away, right? It'll be there, waiting for you."

Lawrence nods, then hands Ali his phone and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a bit, nervous and trembling but soon manages to undo the last few buttons and slide the shirt off. It's hard watching him like this after all they've been through, the intimacy they'd once shared, the horror of Daraa, the separation, the reunion. It's hard to watch but not touch.

"I'm ready." Lawrence shifts until he is facing the wall and Ali has to stifle a gasp.

Lawrence's back is covered in long, thick, white scars, running from his shoulders to the small of his back, upwards, sideways, across, in every possible direction. Some curve onto his ribs, one onto his arm. 

Ali has seen wounds like these during the War, on soldiers, civilians, men, women, some older than his parents, others young enough to be still considered children. Many of those people succumbed to their injuries, the physical and emotional pain proving too much to bear. Yet Lawrence, a civilian with no combat experience and no military training, bore it. He bore it and survived it. 

"You're the strongest, bravest man I've ever met." Ali says softly. He snaps a picture and passes the phone back to Lawrence.

The Englishman looks down at the screen and gasps. "Oh! Oh... oh God. Is that...?"

"Yes, that's what it looks like."

"Oh my... I'm..."

"Beautiful." Ali interjects. "Perfect. Those scars are a part of you but they don't make you any less beautiful. They're a sign of your strength and I am so proud of you and I love you so much."

Lawrence covers his mouth with a hand, breathing heavily through his nose. He looks very fragile, very vulnerable and Ali feels so powerless, he wants to do something, anything to soothe Lawrence's pain.

"Princess." Ali says. "I would like to put my arm around you but you're half-naked and I don't want to scare you."

Lawrence lowers his hand from his mouth and turns to face Ali, his expression unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he takes Ali's hand in his own and places it on his chest. He guides the hand up, over his collarbone, onto his shoulder, then onto the side of his neck. 

"Princess?" Ali whispers hoarsely.

"Hush." Lawrence leans forward and kisses him. Ali lets him take the lead and soon finds himself being pushed onto his back.

"Kiss me, oh please, please kiss me." Lawrence breathes against his lips. "Kiss me where you know I like it."

Ali knows. He props himself up on an elbow and brushes his lips against the soft smooth skin of Lawrence's neck.

"Harder, oh God, harder." Lawrence moans. "I'm not a porcelain doll, you won't break me."

So Ali goes harder, with the faintest hint of teeth. He kisses and sucks a trail down that beautiful neck, all the way to the prominent collarbones. He licks at them slowly. "Is this good?"

"Yes! More, please more."

"Can I kiss you here?" Ali runs his hand down Lawrence's chest.

"Yes."

So Ali does, showering all that lovely pale skin with kisses, _God_ , how he missed this. He moves back up, nipping at Lawrence's jaw, sucking on that spot where jaw connects to the neck.

"I want you. I want to feel you." Lawrence twines his fingers in Ali's hair, pulling, forcing him to look up.

"I'm here."

"I need you." Lawrence lets out a frustrated groan. "I want to feel you in me."

"Are you sure? Do you really want this?"

"Yes!" Lawrence reaches for the bedside table and starts rummaging desperately in the top drawer. Ali takes the opportunity to tease him a little, sucking and licking one nipple, then moving to the other. This is very different to what they used to have but also incredibly exciting.

A condom and a packet of lube tumble to the floor beside Ali's head. 

"Sorry." Lawrence whispers.

"It's alright." Ali strokes his hip. "Can you please undress?"

"Yes." Lawrence retreats just far enough to allow himself and Ali to take off whatever clothes they've still got on. It's very fast, the undressing, all desperation and pent-up need.

"Would you like me to do this for you?" Ali lifts the lube.

"Yes. Please." Lawrence lies back on the mattress without hesitation, absolutely trusting.

He does tense up for a split second at the first touch of Ali's lubed fingers, breath coming in quick pants, but the tension soon dissipates.

"Is this alright?" Ali kisses his shoulder.

"Yes... Don't stop, don't stop."

"I'll only stop if you tell me to. I'm not going to hurt you. You're so precious, you're my princess..."

"I need you, I need you right now!"

All of a sudden Ali finds himself of his back once more, Lawrence looming over him, straddling him, he can feel his hardness entering the tight heat of the other man's body.

"Is this alright?" Lawrence whispers.

"Yes." Ali sits up, propping himself on one arm, wrapping the other around Lawrence's waist. "It's amazing."

They're perfectly still, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. 

"Can I kiss you here?" Ali raises his hand and runs his finger along Lawrence's neck.

"Yes."

So Ali trails slow, wet kisses from Lawrence's chin down his neck, all the way to those tempting collarbones. He's painfully hard, he wants to move, do something, anything, damn, he's missed this!

Lawrence rocks his hips lightly. "Oh..."

"Hmm?" Ali purrs against the skin of his neck.

"Good..." Lawrence moves a fraction harder.

"Can I put my hand on you?"

"Yes."

Ali places his hand on Lawrence's hip, carefully guiding him into a smooth rhythm. "Is this good?"

Lawrence doesn't say a word, instead he lets out a high-pitched little noise, the one that always reminds Ali of Andreas Scholl. He's picking up the pace now, fast and needy, like he can't get enough. The sight of him, flushed, wide-eyed and panting, is incredibly arousing...

"Are you OK?" Ali nuzzles Lawrence's neck.

"Yes!"

"Princess, my princess... You're mine, you know that?"

"Yes, oh God, Yes!"

"Good, good, take what you need." Ali breathes. He's so close...

"I need to feel you on me..." Lawrence gasps.

"Oh God, princess!" Ali rolls them over, adjusts himself and _thrusts_. Beneath him Lawrence spasms and comes with a slurred "godaliyes" on his lips. And Ali can't hold back any longer...

 

"Ali?"

"Yes, princess."

"I... I still can..." Lawrence whispers, surprised. "I can still experience desire and... and pleasure. I thought I would never be able to feel it again."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did."

"Good, that's all that matters." Ali kisses Lawrence's temple. "Would you like me to help you get into bed?"

"Yes but only if you come with me."

"Are you inviting me into your bed?"

"What do you think?" Lawrence smiles.


	13. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time. Mother has an announcement to make. Lawrence makes a request, one which Ali might help fulfil.

There's nothing like a lazy morning. No alarm clocks, no rushing, no panic, just soft sheets and silence interrupted only by the sound of the neighbours' dogs barking at passers by. 

Ali's been awake for a while now but he hasn't made even the slightest effort to get up. He's too busy watching Lawrence, curled on his side, one hand outstretched, fast asleep. He looks like something out of a fairy-tale, languid and warm, a single ray of sunlight creeping up his leg.

Ali runs his fingertips along the vein visible just beneath the delectable white skin of Lawrence's wrist, then brushes his lips over the same spot, earning himself a little "hmm", sleepy but definitely approving.

Lawrence sighs and rolls onto his other side, taking his beautiful hand with him. Ali follows, pressing himself against the other man's back, slipping a hand under his t-shirt, resting it on his stomach.

"Princess..." Ali murmurs into Lawrence's hair. "My sleeping beauty."

"Hmm?" The man purrs softly, happily.

"My lovely." Ali kisses his temple, his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, just below his ear. "My sunshine. My moon."

Lawrence stretches, exposing the length of his neck and Ali immediately takes advantage of that, nuzzling into the soft spot just above his collarbone.

"Ali..." Lawrence murmurs, arching against him.

"Are you awake, princess?"

"No, just talking in my sleep."

"Right." Ali begins sucking a bruise onto Lawrence's neck. "Better wake up if you want this to go any further."

Lawrence laughs throatily and rolls over to face Ali, pulling him in for a kiss. At first slow and leisurely, the kiss soon becomes desperate, fiery, demanding. A long, graceful leg wraps itself around Ali's waist, a heel starts rubbing his buttock and the back of his leg. Ali allows his hand to wander, climbing up Lawrence's thigh towards his hip, gripping firmly, then using that grip to push the other man onto his back.

"I think I'm awake now." Lawrence buries his face into the crook of Ali's neck, nuzzling, with the faintest hint of tongue and teeth. 

"Princess!" Ali gasps, his skin tingling with pleasure, blood rapidly pooling South.

"Please..." Lawrence moans against his neck. "Make me yours."

"Do you want to stay on your back?"

"Yes, yes, just... _oh please_ , just take me, make me yours!"

"Someone's impatient." Ali smiles, busying himself with condom, lube and intruding clothes. "We're on our last condom, princess."

"Aw." Lawrence lets out a noise somewhere between pleasure, excitement and disappointment. 

"I'll put'em on the shopping list..." Carefully, Ali pushes into the warm body beneath him. For a seemingly endless minute they lie motionless, eyes locked.

Lawrence's phone starts ringing.

"Let it ring." Lawrence wraps his legs around Ali's waist.

"If they really _need_ you..." Ali thrusts gently. "They'll call again later."

"Hopefully they won't..."

"Hopefully. Because I've got plans."

"Oh... oh really?"

"Yeah... Bath, breakfast, do shopping. Get. More. Condoms." Ali punctuates his last words with a series of particularly hard thrusts. Lawrence tries to respond but it would seem that he has lost the ability to form sentences.

Ali picks up his pace, he wants more, he wants to hear more, to feel more...

"Make me yours..." Lawrence begs, his hips rocking, meeting every single thrust. 

"You _are_ mine." Ali tells him. "My princess... My love..."

The phone rings again.

"Second... time..." Lawrence gasps. "We might be... ha-ah... in trouble."

"Should I stop?"

"Don't even think about it!"

"You're close, aren't you? Go on, come for me, I want to see you."

Lawrence comes on command, his entire body arching against Ali, clenching around him, wringing his pleasure out of him.   
On the bedside table the phone starts ringing again.

 

"Finally." Mrs Lawrence gives them a look of pure disdain. "Arnold rang you _three_ times."

"I'm sorry, Mother, we were busy." Lawrence sits and starts piling toast onto his and Ali's plates.

"Busy? Doing what exactly? If I find that you were fornicating under my..."

"I'm a grown-arse man, I can do whatever I want in my own bungalow."

"Thomas Edward Lawrence, don't you dare speak to me like that!" 

Lawrence drops his toast, startled. Ali can almost see him recoiling inside. Discreetly, he slips a hand under the table and reassuringly squeezes the man's knee.

"Can we please not argue for five minutes?" Arnold rolls his eyes. "Mother, you said you had an announcement to make. Go on, we're hanging on the edge of our seats."

"Yes, I do have an announcement." Mrs Lawrence smiles proudly. "Robert and myself will be moving to China."

"WHAT?!" Arnold stands up so rapidly his chair falls over. "ARE YOU INSANE, WOMAN?!"

"SIT DOWN!" Mrs Lawrence screams back at him. "The church needs missionaries in China, we talked about it and decided to sign up."

"Mother, neither you nor Bob can speak Chinese." Lawrence chips in, voice level but eyes fixed on his plate. "How are you going to support yourselves in China? Where are you going to stay? What are you going to eat?"

"And don't say the Lord will provide. That is not a valid response." Arnold adds.

"The church is paying for a Chinese course for us.  Once we move to China they will house and feed us."

"Yeah, right. And what about the house? What about me, Ned and Ali?"

"Can you and Ned afford to maintain the house on your wages?"

"You know we can't. You keep opening our bank statements, for the love of God."

" _Arnold_!"

"What?! It's true. You open our mail, you tracked our phones until we were eighteen, you still use Bob as your little enforcer. You think I don't know that Bob was going through Ned's phone, that he deleted messages from Ali?! Think again."

"I was only trying to protect him."

At that point Ali stops listening and switches his attention to Lawrence who is very quietly eating his breakfast. He seems unaffected, his face perfectly impassive. But under the table his leg is shaking convulsively. Ali squeezes that trembling knee again, a little more firmly this time and almost instantly the trembling subsides.

 

They're back in bed, still fully clothed, tangled in the sheets and each other's limbs, exchanging slow, gentle kisses. It's perfect, it's heaven, Ali still can't believe he can have this kind of closeness with Lawrence once more even though it's been weeks since they started sleeping together again. 

"Make me yours." Lawrence murmurs. "Please..."

This again. This constant plea, the demand to be... owned? No, not that. Something else, something Ali can't quite place. 

"What's this about, princess?" Ali pulls back a little, just far enough to see Lawrence.

"What's what?"

"That thing you keep saying. Make me yours?"

"Oh. That." Lawrence's cheeks turn bright pink. "It's stupid really, you're going to think I'm an idiot."

"Why would I think that?"

"Because I'm probably being an idiot. It's just... I want to feel that my body is my own again and I want to feel that I belong to you. Not to them. To you."

"But you already do. You're your own man and you're my princess. I love you."

"I know, I love you too but..." Lawrence lets out a frustrated groan. "I'm really struggling to explain this, Ali."

"No, I think I get it. You want to feel in control and you want to feel safe. Is that right?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what we used to do back at home?" Ali ventures, gently running a finger along the line of Lawrence's jaw. "Do you remember how I used to tie you up and...?"

"I don't think I'm ready for that."

"I'm not asking to tie you up. I was just thinking... Maybe you would like to reverse the dynamic, so to say?"

"Are you asking _me_ to tie _you_ up?"

"Not necessarily. There's other things, like you could give me orders. You'd be fully in control, maybe that would help?"

"I don't know, Ali." Lawrence sighs. "I've never tried anything like that, I wouldn't know what to do. What if I ended up hurting you?"

"We'll lay out some ground rules first. Safewords, hard boundaries and so on. We can even write it down. Anything that makes you feel safe."

"And you really think this will help me?"

"It might. It's happened before."

"I'll consider it. Now come here and make me yours."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was partially inspired by an article I saw about terrorists selling antiquities on ebay to fund their operations. I mean no offence, this is a work of fiction.  
> I'm going for a more movie-like portrayal of Lawrence for this story.  
> Please forgive my Arabic spelling and please do let me know if it's incorrect so I can fix it!


End file.
